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FRED  W.  DAVIS. 


NO 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON 


Fate  hath  no  voice  but  the  heart's  impulse. 

— SCHILLER. 


MATTHEW  WHITE,  JR. 


NEW  YORK 

FRANK  A.    MUNSEY 
1897 


COPYRIGHT,  l8Q7 
BY 

FRANK  A.  MUNSEY 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 


TT  was  a  rainy  night,  and  the  house  was  a 
poor  one.  But  the  members  of  the  company 
extracted  some  little  satisfaction  from  remind- 
ing one  another  that  they  had  told  manager 
Roberts  how  it  would  be,  when  he  announced 
that  Beverley  would  be  taken  in  as  a  one  night 
stand. 

"  I  never  saw  a  good  show  town  yet,"  de- 
clared the  first  old  gentleman,  "that  wasn't 
located  on  a  navigable  river." 

He  was  talking  with  Marie  Myrwin,  the 
leading  woman,  just  before  the  curtain  went 
up  on  the  second  act.  She  scarcely  heard  him. 
She  was  feeling  utterly  miserable.  The  train 
had  been  late,  and  there  was  barely  time  for 
the  company  to  swallow  their  dinners  and  get 
to  the  theater.  As  she  did  not  appear  in  the 


2  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

first  act,  she  had  had  it  a  little  easier  than  the 
others;  but  then  she  had  lost  her  trunk 
key,  the  dressing  room  was  a  vile  place,  and 
now,  by  the  time  she  was  ready  to  go  on,  she 
had  a  violent  headache. 

"  I  shall  soon  lose  my  good  looks  at  this 
rate,"  she  said  to  herself  with  a  sigh,  as,  stand- 
ing in  front  of  the  cracked  mirror,  she  gave  a 
final  touch  of  the  hare's  foot  to  her  make  up. 
"  Then  half  my  capital  will  be  gone." 

But  she  had  not  lost  them  yet  in  any  degree. 
Attired  in  the  white  evening  dress  of  the  ball 
room  scene,  the  tiara  of  diamonds  in  her  hair, 
she  was  a  vision  of  loveliness  as  the  curtain 
went  up,  revealing  her  to  the  few  citizens  of 
Beverley  who  had  braved  the  storm  to  come 
out  and  see  a  play  which — with  another  com- 
pany— had  made  a  record  of  a  hundred  nights 
in  the  metropolis. 

At  the  first  opportunity  Marie  swept  her 
eyes  disdainfully  over  the  rows  of  empty  seats. 
How  humiliating  it  was  !  And  what  a  disap- 
pointment the  whole  life  had  been  to  her ! 

It  seemed  as  if  she  had  never  realized  this 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  3 

as  she  realized  it  tonight ;  and  she  had  been 
in  the  profession  for  five  years,  ever  since 
she  was  seventeen.  The  loneliness  of  it  was 
its  most  oppressive  feature.  That  excess  of 
fraternal  camaraderie,  where  everybody  called 
everybody  else  by  his  or  her  first  name,  put 
out  of  the  question,  to  her  mind  at  least,  any 
real  sincerity  of  attachment. 

She  was  thinking  of  this  as  she  toyed  with 
her  fan  and  smiled  during  her  by  play  with 
the  first  old  gentleman,  while  the  leading  man 
and  the  soubrette  were  holding  the  center  of 
the  stage. 

"  Why  didn't  you  brace  up  on  a  pony, 
Marie?"  Harmon  took  the  opportunity  to 
whisper  under  cover  of  a  laugh  raised  by 
Sophie  Waters. 

Marie  gave  a  little  shiver.  Was  it  possible 
that  she  could  allow  herself  to  be  spoken  to 
in  this  way  day  after  day  and  never  resent  it  ? 
But  pshaw!  How  silly  she  was  tonight. 
What  could  be  the  cause  of  it  ? 

There  was  no  time  to  speculate  on  this  now, 
however.  Her  cue  was  coming  in  an  instant. 


4  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

She  rose  and  walked  toward  the  footlights, 
and  for  a  second  before  she  turned  for  her 
scene  with  Harry  Vane,  she  scanned  the  first 
two  rows  of  orchestra  stalls,  curious  to  see 
what  sort  of  people  this  slow  little  town  of 
Beverley  turned  out 

"  Gilbert  Dean  !" 

She  did  not  even  form  the  words  with  her 
lips,  but  the  shock  of  the  recognition  was  so 
great  that  it  seemed  to  her  as  if  she  must  have 
shouted  the  name.  She  recognized  him  in- 
stantly, in  spite  of  the  mustache  he  had  grown 
since  she  last  saw  him,  five  years  before.  What 
a  silly  quarrel  it  was  that  parted  them  !  How 
different  her  life  might  have  been  were  it  not 
for  that !  She  had  loved  Gilbert  Dean  as  she 
had  never  loved  any  one  before  or  since,  and 
now,  as  she  saw  him  before  her  in  the  full 
glory  of  attained  manhood,  she  realized  that 
she  loved  him  still. 

"  I  must  have  felt  his  presence  in  the  place," 
she  said  to  herself,  "  even  though  I  was  not 
actually  conscious  of  it.  That  is  why  the 
past  has  come  up  before  me  so  forcibly 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  5 

tonight,  why  Harmon's  coarse  talk  grated 
on  me  so.  What  a  contrast  between  all  those 
by  whom  I  am  surrounded  now  and  him  !  It 
seems  hard  to  believe  I  am  the  woman  who 
developed  out  of  the  girl  he  once  knew  so 
well." 

Had  he  recognized  her?  She  could  not 
tell.  He  had  given  no  sign,  and  she  dared 
not  trust  herself  to  look  again.  But  even  if 
he  had  known  her,  would  he  show  it?  It 
might  be  that  he  had  not  forgiven  her,  as  she 
had  forgiven  him  long,  long  ago.  What  could 
have  brought  him  to  this  little  Western 
town? 

Her  scene  was  over  now,  and  she  was  back 
in  the  cramped  little  dressing  room,  where 
her  costly  robe  looked  sadly  out  of  place  with 
the  rain  discolored  wall  paper  and  the  broken 
backed  chairs.  She  sat  down  on  one  of  these, 
and  pressed  her  hand  to  her  temples.  How 
they  throbbed,  but  it  was  not  with  the  aching 
of  her  head  now.  Keen  excitement,  an  infinite 
longing,  possessed  her.  She  must  speak  with 
him — must  ask  him  to  forget  her  pique  on 


6  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

that  night  so  long  ago,  must  tell  him  how 
unsatisfying  her  present  life  was. 

But  how  could  she  manage  this?  She 
might  send  the  doorkeeper  with  a  note  around 
to  one  of  the  ushers,  asking  Dean  if  he  could 
not  come  back  and  see  her  for  a  few  moments 
during  the  next  entr'acte.  It  would  be  per- 
haps a  strange  thing  to  do,  and  it  might  be 
that  he  would  not  come.  Then  she  would 
feel  more  wretched  than  ever.  On  the  whole, 
she  decided  that  she  would  not  try  the  ex- 
periment. 

She  tried  to  think  of  other  things,  and  took 
up  a  novel  she  had  brought  to  pass  away  the 
time  while  she  was  off.  But  she  read  the 
words  without  taking  in  their  meaning. 

"  Of  course  he  didn't  recognize  me,"  she  was 
saying  to  herself.  "  I  have  grown  older ;  my 
make  up  changes  me,  and  then  there  is  the 
other  name  on  the  bill." 

She  dropped  the  book  in  her  lap,  and  sat 
staring  out  through  the  open  door,  at  the 
chaotic  confusion  of  disused  scenery  stored  at 
the  back  of  the  stage.  Just  then  the  band 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  7 

struck  up  a  waltz,  one  of  the  old  favorites,  to 
which  she  had  danced  many  a  time  with  Dean 
in  bygone  days.  Every  strain  sent  a  fresh 
recollection  pulsating  through  her  brain. 

"  Oh,  I  must  make  at  least  an  effort  to  see 
him,"  she  cried  under  her  breath  ;  she  thought 
how  she  would  chide  herself  for  missing  this 
opportunity  when  it  was  past. 

She  hastily  tore  out  a  fly  leaf  of  the  paper 
covered  book,  and  wrote  with  a  pencil  she 
borrowed  from  a  stage  hand  as  he  went  by  : 

DEAR  GILBERT: 

Do  you  recognize  me  in  Marie  Myrwin?  I  would 
like  to  see  you  again,  in  memory  of  the  old  days.  Can 
you  not  come  around  to  my  dressing  room  at  the  end  of 
this  act?  Yours, 


Folding  this  into  three  cornered  shape  and 
pinning  it  together,  she  went  out  to  the  door- 
man and  asked  him  if  he  would  not  send  it  to 
the  gentleman  in  the  aisle  seat,  center  block, 
second  row  of  orchestra  stalls.  Then  she 
retiirned  to  her  dressing  room  to  wait,  more 
nervous  than  before,  for  the  answer. 

But  now  her  second  call  for  the  stage  came, 


8  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

and  as  she  went  on  she  saw  the  usher  go 
down  the  aisle  with  her  note.  During  her 
dialogue  with  Harmon  she  managed  to  watch 
Dean  as  he  received  it.  She  detected  the 
start  with  which  he  turned  as  he  felt  the 
usher's  hand  on  his  shoulder,  but  then  she 
was  obliged  to  cross  to  a  cabinet  on  the  stage 
and  stand  with  her  back  to  the  audience  for  an 
instant  or  two.  When  she  turned  around  again, 
Dean  was  whispering  to  the  lady  beside  him. 

She  was  not  a  particularly  pretty  woman, 
Marie  noticed  with  some  satisfaction.  She 
wondered  a  little  why  Dean  had  selected  her 
as  his  companion  at  the  play.  The  next  in- 
stant she  forgot  everything  else,  and  almost 
her  lines,  in  seeing  Dean  rise  and  walk  out  of 
the  theater. 

She  hardly  knew  how  she  got  through  the 
rest  of  the  scene.  She  felt  that  he  had  come 
at  once  in  response  to  her  request,  was  even 
now  waiting  for  her  in  the  wings.  How  could 
she  thank  manager  Roberts  for  playing  this 
despised  one  night  stand  ? 

At  last  the  curtain  fell.     Marie  hurried  off. 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  9 

Yes,  there  by  the  door  of  her  room  stood  Dean 
— tall,  handsomer  than  ever. 

"Gilbert!" 

She  just  managed  to  breathe  out  the  word, 
as  she  gave  him  her  hand ;  then  they  were 
inside  the  room,  his  lips  had  touched  hers,  his 
arms  were  about  her,  and  she  was  looking  up 
into  his  face  with  all  the  restful  confidence  in 
his  affection  of  the  old,  old  days,  that  had 
seemed  so  far  away  an  hour  ago. 

"  Estelle,"  he  said,  holding  her  off  an  in- 
stant for  admiring  inspection,  "how  strange 
I  did  not  know  you  till  I  read  the  note !  I 
saw  the  resemblance,  but  never  expected  to 
find  you  in  these  surroundings.  Ah,  dear,  how 
good  it  is  to  be  with  you  again  !" 

"  Then  you  are  not  sorry  I  was  so  bold  as  to 
send  for  you?"  she  asked,  half  timidly.  "  You 
— you  have  not  forgotten  how  we  parted  ?" 

"That  was  when  we  were  boy  and  girl, 
Estelle,"  he  answered  gravely.  "It  was  a 
childish  sensitiveness  that  separated  us.  But 
tell  me  about  yourself.  How  did  you  come  to 
go  on  the  stage  ?" 


10  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

"  Papa  lost  his  money  after  we  went  away 
from  Lakefield.  Then  he  died,  and  I  must  do 
something.  I  was  reckless,  having  lost  yon, 
and  craved  excitement.  One  of  my  school- 
mates had  made  a  success  in  light  comedy,  so  I 
went  to  a  manager  and  asked  him  if  he  couldn't 
start  me.  And  this  is  as  far  as  I  have  got  in 
the  five  years." 

"Then  you  don't  care  for  the  life?"  Dean 
said  eagerly. 

"  Care  for  it  ?  I  hate  it.  You  do  not  know, 
none  can  know  but  we  who  have  lived  it,  the 
miserable  substitute  for  satisfaction  that  is 
got  out  of  our  profession.  To  feel  that  I  am 
the  mere  puppet  to  amuse  others,  that  I  must 
put  my  arms  around  the  neck  of  men  for 
whom  I  don't  care  a  fig,  must  smile  and  jest 
when  my  heart  is  black  with  gloom  ;  and  be- 
yond all  to  realize  that  the  world,  whether 
rightly  or  wrongly,  holds  me  without  the  pale 
of  respectable  society,  and  gives  me  of  its 
smiles  only  when  the  orchestra  pit  is  between 
us — all  this  is  too  galling  to  be  offset  by  the 
glitter  and  the  glare  that  the  audience  sees. 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  II 

But  why  am  I  wasting  the  precious  minutes 
lamenting  my  lot  ?  Tell  me  of  yourself,  Gil- 
bert. How  came  you  to  be  in  Beverley  ?" 

"  Simply  traveling,  and  stopped  here  over 
night  to  break  the  journey.  How  fortunate 
that  I  did,  now  that  I  have  met  you  here ! 
I  never  expected  to  see  you  again,  Estelle." 

"  I  never  meant  that  you  should,  Gilbert. 
Our  paths  have  trended  too  far  apart.  You 
should  not  be  here  now,  perhaps,  and  yet 
when  I  saw  your  dear  face,  islanded  like  a 
welcoming  oasis  in  that  desert  of  strangers,  I 
could  not  resist  sending  to  see  if  you  would 
come.  This  little  talk  will  help  me  much  in 
the  days  that  lie  before  me." 

"  But  I  shall  see  you  again,  Estelle,  surely 
— tomorrow.  How  long  do  you  stay  here?" 

"  We  leave  the  first  thing  in  the  morning, 
so  you  see  I  must  say  good  by  now." 

She  tried  to  speak  bravely,  but  though  there 
was  a  smile  on  her  lips  there  was  almost 
despair  in  her  eyes.  She  knew  now  that  Gil- 
bert Dean  was  not  going  to  say,  as  she  had 
hoped  for  a  moment  that  he  would :  "  Do 


12  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

not  live  this  life  another  day.  Throw  up  your 
engagement,  and  be  that  which  you  should 
have  been  years  ago — my  wife."  What  if  he 
were  already  married?  The  thought  now 
occurred  to  her  for  the  first  time.  He  had 
started  to  reply  to  the  information  she  gave 
him,  after  a  brief  hesitation,  when  she  ex- 
claimed, "  Gilbert,  tell  me  something." 

"  Well  ?"  he  queried,  smiling  down  at  her, 
while  she  paused  for  an  instant,  gaining  courage 
to  go  on.  She  was  thinking  of  that  plain 
woman  who  sat  beside  him. 

At  this  moment  there  was  a  knock  at  the 
door. 

"  Miss  Myrwin,"  called  out  the  stage  mana- 
ger, "you  must  take  your  cue." 

She  flung  herself  on  his  breast.  "  Good  by, 
Gilbert,"  she  half  sobbed  ;  then  she  sped  away 
into  the  wings. 


n. 


"  "T7DU  missed  quite  a  good  deal  of  the  third 
act,   Gilbert.      What   detained  you   so 
long?" 

"  Oh,  an  old  acquaintance  happened  to  spot 
me,  and  couldn't  rest  till  he'd  had  me  out  for 
a  chat.  Funny  I  should  run  across  him  away 
out  here,  isn't  it  ?" 

Dean  picked  up  the  opera  glasses  from  his 
wife's  lap,  and  leveled  them  at  Harry  Vane, 
not  because  he  cared  particularly  about  seeing 
the  leading  juvenile  at  closer  range,  but  be- 
cause he  felt  a  flush  rising  to  his  cheeks,  and 
wished  to  conceal  it  in  so  far  as  might  be  pos- 
sible. He  was  not  accustomed  to  lying.  His 
nerves  still  tingled  from  his  interview  with  the 
woman  he  had  thought  dead  in  his  affections 
long  ago.  He  was  dazed,  feeling  the  ground 
of  respectability  slipping  out  from  under  his 
feet. 

13 


14  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

She  was  on  the  stage  now,  talking  badinage 
with  Vane,  a  vapid  looking  fellow  with  pale 
blue  eyes  and  a  weak  voice.  How  beautiful 
she  looked,  and  how  unhappy  she  was !  How 
unhappy  Dean  was  himself !  And  yet,  fifteen 
minutes  before,  he  had  been  passively  con- 
tented. Two  years  previous  he  had  married  a 
girl  he  did  not  love,  to  please  his  mother.  He 
had  thought  it  no  particular  wrong  at  the 
time.  The  girl  was  very  fond  of  him ;  he 
loved  no  one  else ;  it  seemed  to  him  that  his 
capacity  for  loving  had  been  taken  away  from 
him  when  Estelle  Osgood  went  out  of  his  life. 

And  yet  he  had  not  regarded  this  attachment 
as  so  very  serious.  He  was  only  nineteen  when 
they  quarreled  and  parted.  He  simply  realized 
that  it  seemed  impossible  for  him,  as  a  man, 
to  care  for  other  girls  as  the  boy  had  cared  for 
Estelle.  So  he  had  made  two  people  very 
happy  by  proposing  to  Louise  Dartmouth,  who 
brought  him  a  wealth  of  affection  and  an  open- 
ing in  her  father's  establishment  at  Islington 
that  made  him  looked  up  to  as  one  of  the  rich 
men  of  the  town. 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  15 

He  had  been — he  was — greatly  respected 
as  well.  It  was  the  consciousness  of  this  fact 
that  caused  his  brain  to  seethe  now  as  he  re- 
called what  he  had  done.  And  yet,  as  he 
watched  Estelle  Osgood  move  about  the  stage, 
listened  to  the  enchanting  tones  of  her  voice, 
realized  that  he  possessed  the  power  to  draw 
out  its  tenderest  chords — he  felt  that  were 
he  once  more  permitted  to  decide,  he  must 
do  just  as  he  had  done. 

And  yet  all  the  while  he  recognized  the 
hideous  wrong  of  it.  He  even  took  a  morbid 
satisfaction  in  viewing  the  affair  on  all  its 
most  abhorrent  sides.  This  for  a  time  ;  then 
he  began  to  justify  himself.  Surely,  he 
reasoned,  a  man  had  a  right  to  go  to  see  an  old 
friend,  to  kiss  her  even.  He  was  certain  he 
knew  of  many  respected  husbands  who  kissed 
women  who  were  neither  their  wives  nor  their 
sisters.  How  absurd  in  him  to  try  to  deceive 
Louise  about  it !  Why  had  he  not  frankly 
shown  her  the  note  and  told  her  that  this 
might  be  his  only  opportunity  to  see  a  friend  of 
his  youth?  She  might  even  have  gone  back 


1 6  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

with  him  ;  she  would  have  been  interested  in 
penetrating  that  usually  forbidden  region. 

And  at  this  point  the  other  reaction  set  in. 
He  knew  that  he  would  not  have  dared  ask 
Louise  to  go  with  him ;  that  he  did  not  want 
her  to  see  his  meeting  with  Estelle,  because, 
from  the  first  instant  that  he  realized  she  was 
before  him  on  the  stage,  he  was  conscious  that 
he  loved  her  as  he  never  had  loved,  never 
could  love,  his  wife. 

"  Why  don't  you  applaud,  Gilbert?  I  can 
make  no  sort  of  noise  with  these  gloves  on. 
That  little  soubrette  is  very  cute,  isn't  she  ?  " 

"  Yes — oh,  yes,"  he  answered  mechanically, 
and  began  to  clap  just  as  the  others  ceased. 

He  wondered  why  his  wife  did  not  see  that 
he  was  terribly  distraught.  He  was  so  unused 
to  dissimulating.  He  recalled  Sydney  Rollins, 
his  chum  at  college.  What  an  adept  he  was 
in  the  art !  "  The  Two  Poles,"  he  and  Rollins 
had  been  called  by  their  classmates,  they  were 
so  opposed  to  each  other  in  their  tastes  and 
habits.  Dean  had  never  been  in  a  "scrape  "  ; 
Rollins  was  scarcely  ever  out  of  one.  What 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  17 

if  Syd  knew  of  this  Estelle  Osgood  incident 
in  Dean's  life  ?  Dean  felt  that  he  would  almost 
be  willing  to  tell  him  for  the  sake  of  hear- 
ing the  ejaculation  of  amazement  it  would 
elicit.  Rollins  was  a  bachelor  still. 

"  Too  many  loves  for  me  ever  to  settle  down 
with  a  wife,"  he  would  say  recklessly,  and  yet 
Dean  could  not  imagine  him  doing  what  he 
himself  had  just  done  ;  and  with  this  thought 
he  began  to  conceive  a  horror  of  himself,  to 
liken  himself  to  the  sleek  hypocrites  in  long 
coats  and  white  ties  who  bring  discredit  upon 
the  church  whose  banner  they  are  supposed 
to  uphold. 

"  Am  I  like  these  ?"  he  almost  cried  out  in 
utter  loathing ;  and  then  the  curtain  fell  on 
the  third  act,  and  his  wife  began  to  ask  him 
how  he  enjoyed  the  play. 

"How  do  you  like  Marie  Myrwin?"  she 
vent  on,  luckily  not  waiting  for  him  to  express 
an  opinion.  "  Rather  stagy,  don't  you  think  ?" 

As  the  play  drew  toward  its  close,  Dean 
caught  himself  wondering  if  the  farewell 
glimpse  of  Estelle  he  had  as  the  curtain  fell, 


1 8  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

would  be  the  last  time  he  would  ever  see  her. 
At  this  thought  every  fiber  in  his  heart  rebelled. 
He  could  almost  feel  the  impress  of  her  lips 
upon  his  own  yet.  To  think  that  he  would 
never  again  know  the  sweet  sensation  was 
maddening.  He  had  made  no  appointment 
with  her  ;  had  never  even  asked  to  what  town 
she  going  next.  His  brain  reeled.  He  was 
torn  between  the  conflicting  elements  of  love 
and  self  respect.  And  in  the  midst  of  the  con- 
flict the  curtain  fell,  with  her  eyes  fixed  on 
his  as  she  formed  the  central  figure  in  the 
final  tableau. 

As  Dean  put  away  the  opera  glasses,  and 
placed  his  wife's  wrap  about  her  shoulders,  it 
seemed  to  him  as  if  he  were  preparing  to  leave 
paradise. 

"  I've  enjoyed  it  very  much,  Gilbert,"  said 
Louise,  as  they  walked  back  to  their  hotel. 
"  It  was  ever  so  good  of  you  to  bring  me.  I 
know  you  don't  care  much  for  this  sort  of 
thing." 

Each  word  was  a  stab  for  Dean,  and  yet 
before  he  slept  that  night  he  was  hoping 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  19 

desperately  that  the  "  Borrowed  Plumes " 
company  would  embark  the  next  morning  for 
Kansas  City,  their  own  destination.  In  fact, 
when  he  came  to  think  the  matter  over,  he 
could  not  see  very  well  how  they  could  be 
going  anywhere  else.  He  remembered  notic- 
ing the  low  comedian  on  their  train  the  day 
before,  so  they  were  not  bound  westward. 

"  I  shall  see  her  again  !" 

These  words  repeated  themselves  over  and 
over  in  Dean's  mind.  That  he  would  be  able 
to  speak  with  her  he  had  no  hope.  He  was 
not  sure  that  he  wished  to  do  so  ;  he  was  not 
sure  that  he  could  live  without  doing  so. 


in. 


Deans  were  late  in  reaching  the 
station  the  next  morning,  and  had  barely 
time  to  step  aboard  the  train  before  it  started. 
Dean  glanced  hurriedly  up  and  down  the  plat- 
form, but  saw  no  sign  of  the  players.  Very 
likely  Estelle  was  still  in  Beverley.  They 
took  chairs  in  the  second  parlor  car,  and 
Louise  began  to  chat  about  some  friends  in 
Kansas  City. 

"Do  you  think  we  had  better  telegraph 
them  we  are  coming,  "she  said,  "or  just  drop 
in  and  surprise  them  ?  " 

"  Oh  —  er  —  what  is  that,  Louise  ?  " 
Dean  was  thinking  that  he  was  by  no 
means  certain  that  Estelle  was  not  on  this 
train.  Nearly  every  one  had  been  aboard  by 
the  time  he  reached  the  station.  He  was 
wondering  what  excuse  he  could  make  for 
walking  through  the  cars. 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  21 

Louise  repeated  her  question,  and  still  Dean 
was  helpless.  His  mind  was  so  filled  with 
Estelle  that  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  admit 
any  other  topic  at  short  notice. 

"  I  don't  know,  my  dear,"  he  said  at  length. 
"  I  never  was  good  at  conundrums." 

"Gilbert,"  exclaimed  Louise,  turning  on 
him  reproachfully,  "  what  has  come  over  you 
this  morning  ?" 

"  Haskell,  I  guess,"  he  replied,  trying  to 
laugh  it  off.  "  The  fellow  I  was  telling  you 
of  last  night.  I  think  I  saw  him  get  on  one 
of  the  rear  cars.  I'd  like  him  to  know  you. 
I'll  go  and  hunt  him  up." 

Dean  was  amazed  at  himself.  How  easily 
he  talked  of  this  subterfuge  !  He  had  not  seen 
Haskell ;  the  idea  of  using  him  as  an  excuse 
for  making  a  tour  of  inspection  occurred  to 
him  in  a  flash. 

"  You  will  be  back  directly,  Gilbert  ?" 

"  Yes,  dear,"  and  he  was  gone.  He  seemed 
to  be  as  helpless  as  a  straw  caught  in  the  eddy 
of  a  stream  that  is  sweeping  it  onward  to  the 
rapids. 


22  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

"And  that  is  where  I  am  being  swept,"  he 
muttered,  as  he  passed  through  the  vestibule 
into  the  car  behind. 

But  he  did  not  hesitate  ;  swiftly  he  walked 
down  the  aisle  of  the  common  coach,  eagerly 
scanning  the  faces  on  either  side.  He  recog- 
nized several  as  belonging  to  the  "  Borrowed 
Plumes  "  company,  but  Estelle  was  not  among 
them.  Nor  was  she  in  any  of  the  three  rear  cars. 

"  It  can't  be  that  she  remained  behind,"  he 
said  to  himself,  as  he  went  back  to  his  own 
car.  "It  is  very  odd." 

"  Well,  did  you  find  Mr.  Haskell  ?  "  asked 
Louise. 

"  No  ;  I  must  have  been  mistaken." 

He  tried  to  think  of  something  else  to  say, 
but  the  words  which  would  come  most  readily 
to  his  tongue  were,  "  What  a  hypocrite  I  am !  " 
And  yet,  with  the  full  realization  of  this  fact, 
he  could  scarcely  sit  quiet,  from  the  impatience 
that  possessed  him  to  ascertain  if  Estelle  were 
anywhere  else  on  the  train. 

He  tried  to  think  that  this  would  satisfy 
him,  that  he  could  then  return  to  his  wife,  and 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  23 

be  at  ease  for  the  remainder  of  the  journey. 
But  he  knew  very  well  that  it  would  not  be 
so ;  knew  that  if  he  saw  Estelle  he  could  no 
more  refrain  from  speaking  to  her  than  he 
could  still  the  throbbing  of  his  pulse. 

For  a  while  he  tried  to  chat  with  Louise 
about  her  friends  in  Kansas  City.  He  caught 
himself  hoping  that  she  would  wish  to  stay 
there  a  while.  The  company  would  play  in  a 
city  of  that  size  for  three  nights  at  least. 

Finally,  he  could  control  his  impatience  no 
longer. 

"  If  you  don't  mind,  my  dear,"  he  said, 
taking  a  cigar  from  his  pocket,  "  I  shall  go 
forward  and  smoke  for  a  few  minutes.  Amuse 
yourself  with  this,"  and  he  bought  a  book 
from  the  train  boy,  who  had  just  made  his 
appearance. 

"  Don't  be  long,  Gilbert ; "  and  as  Dean  noted 
the  glance  she  sent  after  him,  and  realized 
that  as  yet  it  was  all  of  affection  and  not  of 
suspicion,  he  despised  himself  for  his  weakness. 
Nevertheless,  he  kept  straight  on  past  the  smok- 
ing compartment  and  entered  the  coach  ahead. 


IV. 

TTE  did  not  see  Estelle  at  first,  for  the  reason 
that  she  was  so  close  to  him,  just  at  his 
right  in  the  first  chair  from  the  sofa.  He  sat 
down  on  this,  and  bending  slightly  forward, 
said  softly,  "Estelle!" 

She  was  too  well  trained  an  actress  to  appear 
startled.  She  turned  around  in  her  chair,  and 
replied  simply: 

"  Why,  Gilbert,  you  here  !  " 

But  Dean  could  see  in  her  eyes  the  great 
joy  his  coming  gave  her,  and  from  that 
moment  he  knew  that  he  would  be  reckless 
of  consequences. 

"  I  was  afraid  you  were  not  on  the  train," 
he  began.  "  I  have  been  looking  for  you." 

"  How  comes  it  you  are  here  ?  "  she  re- 
joined. 

"It  is  a  happy  coincidence.     You  see  we 

are  on  our  way  home  to " 

24 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  25 

He  stopped  quickly,  realizing  from  the  look 
in  her  eyes  that  he  had  betrayed  himself  by 
that  little  pronoun  "  we." 

"  Then  you  are  married,"  she  said.  "  I 
wanted  to  ask  you  last  night,  but  there  was 
no  time.  You  are  very  happy,  I  suppose." 

What  beautiful  eyes  she  had !  And  she 
fixed  them  on  him  now  with  a  wistful  ex- 
pression that  went  straight  to  his  heart,  and 
made  him  long  to  rise  up  just  where  he  was, 
clasp  her  to  him,  and  cry  out  to  all  the  world : 
"  This  woman  belongs  to  me  by  all  the  prior 
rights  of  love.  Who  says  that  we  must  keep 
apart  ?  "  For  although  her  words  were  "  You 
are  very  happy,"  he  saw  that  she  was  think- 
ing "  How  happy  she  must  be,"  and  the 
thought  that  Estelle  was  hungering  for  the 
devotion  he  had  no  right  to  give  her  well  nigh 
drove  him  mad.  By  a  powerful  effort  he  con- 
trolled himself,  and  answered:  "I  am  ac- 
counted a  very  fortunate  man  in  Islington, 
where  I  live." 

For  an  instant  there  was  silence  between 
them.  Just  then  the  train  slowed  up  a  little, 


26  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

and  they  had  quite  a  distinct  glimpse  of  a  tiny 
cottage  by  the  track.  There  was  an  arch  of 
honeysuckle  over  the  porch,  and  framed  by  it 
now  stood  a  young  girl.  A  sturdy  fellow  in 
overalls,  and  with  a  tin  pail  in  his  hand, 
stood  on  the  steps  beneath  her,  and  an  instant 
before  the  picture  was  blotted  from  the  view 
of  those  two  on  the  express  the  girl  bent 
down  and  kissed  him. 

"  Love  in  a  cottage  is  sweet,"  Dean  leaned 
forward  to  whisper.  The  whisper  ended  in  a 
half  sigh. 

"  My  poor  boy,"  said  Estelle,  "  you  are  not 
happy." 

"How  can  I  be  happy,"  he  replied  pas- 
sionately, "  when  I  have  missed  having  you 
to  make  me  so  ?  " 

"  But,  Gilbert,  you  have  no  right  to  say 
that  to  me." 

"  Yes,  I  have  a  right,"  he  went  on  doggedly. 
"  I  want  you  to  know,  Estelle,  that  I  did  not 
marry  for  love,  but  to  please  my  family,  and 
— and  because  I  thought  I  could  never  really 
care  for  any  woman  again  after  losing  you." 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  27 

"Please,  Gilbert!  Don't  you  see — don't 
you  realize  that  you  are  making  it  very  hard 
for  both  of  us  ?  " 

"  But  it  seems  so  unjust,  so  cruel,"  he  went 
on  blindly  ;  "  and  if  we  can  obtain  some  little 
satisfaction  out  of  talking  of  what  might  have 
been,  may  we  not  allow  ourselves  that  ?  " 

"  No,  dear  ;  because  you  risk  too  much.  For 
me  it  does  not  matter  so  greatly ;  I  am  only 
an  actress." 

"  For  the  love  of  heaven,  Estelle,"  he  pleaded, 
"  don't  speak  of  yourself  in  that  strain.  You 
will  make  me  rail  more  fiercely  at  fate  than 
ever,  to  think  I  am  not  permitted  always  to 
be  with  you,  to  protect  you  from  the  affronts 
to  which  you  must  be  exposed.  Tell  me, 
when  you  play  in  the  large  cities,  who  goes 
with  you  from  the  theater  to  the  hotel  ?  " 

"  Oh,  sometimes  one  of  the  company,  some- 
times another.  It  depends  on  what  other 
engagements  they  have." 

"And  I  suppose  when  they  all  happen  to  have 
these  engagements  you  go  alone  ?  "  Dean  in- 
terjected, gnawing  at  the  ends  of  his  mustache. 


28  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

"  It  has  happened  that  way  sometimes," 
Estelle  admitted. 

Dean  ground  his  heel  into  the  carpet. 

"And  must  I  feel  that  it  will  happen  again," 
he  muttered  ;  "  realize  that,  much  as  I  care  for 
you,  I  am  powerless  to  give  you  the  protection 
you  need  ?  " 

Estelle  looked  into  his  eyes ;  there  were 
tears  in  her  own. 

"  I  fear,"  she  murmured,  "  that  just  now  I 
stand  more  in  need  of  protection  from  you 
than  from  any  one  else." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "   he  asked  quickly. 

"  If  I  had  known  you  were  married,  Gilbert, 
I  would  not  have  sent  for  you  last  night.  It 
was  not  right  for  you  to  come,  to — to  greet 
me  as  you  did." 

"  Heaven  help  us,  Estelle.  I  could  not  have 
done  otherwise." 

She  raised  her  hand  in  protest. 

"  Do  not  make  it  harder  for  me  than  it  is, 
Gilbert.  Ever  since  I  have  found  out  that  you 
were  bound  to  another,  oh,  how  earnestly  I 
have  wished  I  had  not  seen  you  again ! " 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  29 

He  bent  forward  eagerly,  and  barely  re- 
strained himself  from  snatching  her  hand. 

"  Don't  say  that,  dear,"  he  murmured  be- 
seechingly. "  Full  of  torture  as  our  position 
is,  I  would  not  have  missed  knowing  what  I 
know  now  for  life  itself.  Think,  since  I  have 
come  to  man's  estate,  I  have  not  realized  what 
it  is  to  love  till  last  night.  Is  that  not  worth 
all  the  pain  of  loving  ?  " 

"  But  you  are  playing  with  fire.  Every 
syllable  spoken  thus  is  an  insult  to  your  wife. 
There  is  only  one  thing  for  you  and  me  to  do ; 
we  must  not  see  each  other  again." 

"  You  condemn  me  to  unhappiness,  then — 
you,  Estelle,  who  have  it  in  your  power  to  make 
my  life  one  long  Elysium  !  " 

"  That  is  not  true,  Gilbert ;  not  now,  at 
least.  Your  wife  stands  between  us.  There 
could  be  no  real  happiness  for  us,  however 
reckless  we  might  be.  You  will  forget  me 
again,  as  you  have  forgotten  me  once,  and  I — 
I  will  forget  you." 

There  was  a  catch  in  her  voice  as  she  added 
this  last.  Dean's  heart  ached  for  her.  He 


$0  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

was  about  to  speak,  when  she  went  on  again 
quickly,  as  if  fearing  what  he  might  say  : 
"  Your  wife  is  with  you  on  this  train,  then  ?" 

"  Yes,"  Dean  said.  "  We  merely  stopped  in 
Beverley  over  night.  She  dreads  the  sleeping 
cars." 

"And  does  she  know  that  you  are  talking 
with  me  ?"  Bstelle  went  on. 

Dean  flushed  slightly. 

"  No,"  he  replied ;  "  she  imagines  that  I  am 
in  the  smoking  compartment." 

"  And  you  are  deceiving  her  on  my  account. 
That  is  not  like  the  Gilbert  of  the  old  days." 

"  I  am  not  that  Gilbert.  He  was  a  purpose- 
less, thoughtless  boy.  I  am  a  man,  dominated 
by  a  passion  whose  seeds  were  sown  in  those 
halcyon  days  which  we  never  half  appreciated. 
Am  I  to  sit  down  calmly  to  my  humdrum  ex- 
istence, and  deny  my  soul  a  moment's  true 
happiness?" 

"  But  you  made  this  life  your  own,  did  you 
not?" 

"  Yes,  but  then  I  did  not  know  that  you 
were  so  dear  to  me.  I  thought  that  the  regard 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  31 

I  had  for  you  was  a  boyish  whim,  which 
absence  had  caused  to  wither  and  die.  When 
I  think " 

"  No,"  she  interposed.  "  You  must  not  think 
on  this  theme.  You  must  not  be  with  me. 
It  is  time  already  that  you  left  me  and  returned 
to  your  wife." 

"  Not  yet,"  Dean  pleaded.  "  I  may  never 
see  you  again." 

"  It  is  not  '  may ' ;  you  must  not  see  me 
again.  Good  by."  She  held  out  her  hand, 
but  he  did  not  take  it. 

"  Not  now  ;  just  a  little  longer,"  he  begged, 
adding,  with  a  smile,  "A  cigar  would  not  be 
half  smoked  yet." 

The  smile  was  not  reflected  in  her  face. 

"That  you  resorted  to  such  a  subterfuge 
shows  me  how  necessary  it  is  that  I  should 
not  allow  you  to  see  me  at  all.  Did  you  tell 
your  wife  why  you  left  her  in  the  theater  last 
night — that  you  came  to  pay  me  a  visit?" 

"  No." 

"It  will  be  all  the  harder  for  you,  then, 
when  she  learns  the  truth.  If  any  harm  arises 


32  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

from  that  call  of  yours  on  me,  I  shall  never 
forgive  myself." 

A  weary  look  came  into  her  eyes.  She 
rested  her  head  against  the  back  of  her  chair. 

"  I  can't  allow  you  to  blame  yourself  in  this 
way,  Estelle,"  Dean  said.  "A  thousand  to 
one  I  should  have  recognized  you  before  the 
play  was  over,  and  gone  back  to  see  you  of 
my  own  accord.  And  now  I  want  you  to 
promise  me  something." 

"  Yes,  Gilbert.     What  is  it  ?  " 

She  wondered  if  she  could  endure  the  ordeal 
much  longer.  Looking  down  the  dreary  vista 
of  her  life,  she  was  appalled.  The  only  way 
was  not  to  think  of  it.  But  with  this  man 
beside  her,  his  very  presence  reminding  her  of 
what  might  have  been,  what  should  have 
been,  the  desolation  of  that  which  was,  which 
would  continue  to  be,  was  forced  inexorably 
upon  her. 

"  Promise  me  this,  Estelle,"  Dean  went  on, 
"  that  if  you  are  ever  in  any  trouble,  if  there 
is  anything  in  the  wide  world  I  can  do  for 
you — promise  me,  dear,  you  will  let  me  know. 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  33 

Who  has  a  better  right  to  aid  you  than  your 
oldest  friend  ?" 

"  He  would  have  the  best  right,"  she  replied, 
"  if — if  he  were  not  more  than  a  friend." 

"  Never  mind  about  that.    Your  promise  !  " 

"  Will  you  go,  then  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Then  here  is  my  hand  on  it." 

Dean  rose.  "God  bless  you,  Kstelle,"  he 
murmured  under  his  breath  ;  and  "  I  promise. 
Good  by,  Gilbert,"  she  said. 

Then  he  hurriedly  went  out,  and  crossed 
back  to  his  own  car. 


V. 

OEATED  in  the  smoking  compartment,  Dean 
tried  to  restore  his  nerves  to  their  normal 
tension  before  going  back  to  his  wife.  But  it 
was  a  difficult  task.  His  interview  with  Es- 
telle  had  convinced  him  of  the  fact  that  she 
cared  deeply  for  him,  so  that  now  to  love  was 
added  compassion.  Over  and  over  in  his 
mind  he  repeated  her  every  word  ;  every  vary- 
ing expression  of  her  face  was  photographed 
there  indelibly. 

"  How  brave  she  is ! "  he  told  himself. 
"  May  I  have  the  strength  to  be  as  heroic  a 
man  as  she  is  a  woman,  and  do  that  which 
will  raise,  not  lower  me  in  her  eyes !  " 

Even  while  this  resolve  was  forming,  it  was 
all  Dean  could  do  to  remain  where  he  was, 
when  he  realized  that  only  a  few  steps  would 
take  him  into  the  next  car,  were  Estelle  was 
sitting — alone.  Only  by  reminding  himself 
34 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  35 

that  he  was  doing  her  will  was  he  enabled  to 
stay  and  smoke  his  cigar  out.  Then,  resisting 
an  almost  overpowering  temptation  again  to 
enter  the  coach  ahead,  he  returned  to  his  wife. 

She  was  eagerly  awaiting  him,  anxious  to 
talk  over  a  situation  in  the  novel  he  had 
bought  for  her,  in  which  the  interest  centered 
on  a  mariage  de  convenance. 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  she  said,  "  that  they 
should  have  separated  as  soon  as  they  found 
that  it  was  really  misery  for  them  to  live 
together.  Don't  you  think  that  would  be 
better,  Gilbert,  than  constant  bickering  ?  " 

"  But  that  would  be  hard  for  the  one  who 
loved,"  Dean  rejoined,  his  thoughts  on  an  in- 
stance that  was  not  in  a  novel. 

"  It  couldn't  be,"  Louise  went  on,  "  for, 
don't  you  understand,  neither  loved  the  other. 
They  went  into  the  thing  with  their  eyes 
open,  and  both  soon  awoke  to  the  fact  that 
they  were  equally  miserable.  And  I  dare  say 
this  fiction  finds  many  a  counterpart  in  fact. 
It  has  made  me  realize  what  a  happy  woman 
I  am.  Why,  do  you  know,  Gilbert,  it  has 


36  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

seemed  to  me  as  if  our  honeymoon  had  never 
waned  ?  " 

"  That  is  what  all  true  marriages  should  be, 
my  dear,"  Dean  replied  :  "a  perpetual  wedding 
journey." 

He  despised  his  own  hypocrisy  as  he  spoke 
the  words,  but  there  was  now  in  his  mind  a 
grim  determination  to  be  a  true  husband  to 
Louise,  to  accept  his  lot  as  Estelle  would  have 
him  do. 

"Sometimes  it  seems  to  me,"  Louise  con- 
tinued, "  as  if  I  had  too  much  happiness,  more 
than  my  share.  You  know  there  are  so  many 
marriages  where  love,  like  riches,  takes  wings 
after  the  first  few  months,  and  flies  away." 

What  tortures  Dean  was  suffering !  Contempt 
for  himself,  pity  for  Louise,  anxiety  and  fear- 
ful foreboding  for  Estelle — all  these  emotions 
were  commingled  in  his  heart.  He  could 
scarcely  command  his  voice  to  make  reply. 

The  day  wore  on.  When  the  dining  car 
was  attached  Dean  hoped  he  might  see  Estelle, 
even  if  he  were  not  permitted  to  speak  to  her  ; 
but  she  did  not  appear.  When  he  went  to 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  37 

smoke  his  after  dinner  cigar,  it  called  for  the 
mightest  effort  of  his  life  to  refrain  from  step- 
ping into  the  forward  coach  to  inquire  how 
she  was.  She  had  grown  very  pale  toward 
the  end  of  their  interview,  he  recalled.  But 
no  ;  he  must  not  go. 

He  went  back  to  his  wife,  and  they  chatted 
over  plans  for  some  alterations  in  their  house, 
till  dusk  began  to  descend.  Then  a  silence 
fell  upon  them,  and  each  gazed  out  over  the 
dreary  landscape  of  flat  plains,  with  only  here 
and  there  a  tree,  and  scarcely  ever  a  house. 

"  As  monotonous  as  my  life  will  be,"  Dean 
muttered  to  himself. 

Would  he  be  able  to  endure  it  ?  How  far 
could  he  trust  himself  ?  "  Till  death  us  do 
part."  This  phrase  of  the  marriage  service 
came  to  his  mind.  He  must  expect  no  happi- 
ness out  of  life,  only  a  passive  submission  to 
the  inevitable.  "  May  it  be  short,  then,"  was 
the  half  impious  wish  that  formed  itself  in 
his  breast. 

The  train  had  been  running  very  swiftly ; 
darkness  had  just  closed  in  about  it ;  the  lamps 


38  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

were  lighted,  making  the  interior  bright  and 
cheerful.  Louise  put  out  her  hand  to  draw 
the  shade  and  shut  out  the  lonesome  prairie — 
a  jar,  a  crash,  and  instantly  they  were  hurled 
from  their  seats.  Women  shrieked,  men  were 
white  with  fear.  A  wild  stampede  was  made 
for  the  doors. 

Dean  seized  his  wife  in  his  arms,  and  a 
moment  later  they  were  out  on  the  ground. 
Shrieks  of  agony  rilled  the  air ;  a  car,  shattered 
into  almost  a  shapeless  mass,  lay  before  them 
where  it  had  plunged  from  the  rails.  Flames 
had  already  started,  and  it  seemed  as  if  none 
within  would  escape.  And  it  was  the  first 
Pullman  coach,  the  one  in  which  Bstelle 
rode. 

Dean  felt  as  if  he  were  going  mad.  Seizing 
an  axe  he  remembered  seeing  in  his  own  car, 
he  dashed  almost  into  the  very  midst  of  the 
flames.  In  a  frenzy  he  worked  to  cut  away 
the  imprisoning  timbers,  for  now  he  saw  her, 
helpless,  but  mercifully  unconscious,  close  to 
him,  and  yet  apparently  doomed.  It  was  a 
race  between  himself  and  the  conflagration. 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  39 

The  man  won,  by  a  hair's  breadth,  and  with 
the  only  woman  he  had  ever  truly  loved  in  his 
arms,  he  staggered  out  from  under  the  breath 
of  the  flames  that  an  instant  later  would  have 
swept  over  them  both. 

His  wife  was  watching  for  him,  and  she  it 
was  who  knelt  beside  his  unconscious  burden 
when  he  had  placed  her  on  the  grass. 

"  My  brave  boy,"  she  exclaimed,  "  you  have 
saved  her  life ;  but  she  must  not  stay  here. 
Is  there  no  place  where  she  can  be  carried  and 
made  comfortable?  Gilbert,  look  about  and 
see  if  you  cannot  find  a  house." 

And  Dean  went  off,  leaving  those  two  to- 
gether— his  wife  and  the  woman  he  loved. 
But  he  thought  little  of  this  now.  His  chief 
concern  was  for  Estelle's  safety,  for  till  she 
was  herself  again,  till  she  looked  at  him  with 
eyes  that  recognized  who  was  before  them,  he 
could  not  feel  that  his  act  of  rescue  was  com- 
plete. He  knew  that  behind  him  he  left  a 
tragedy,  for  he  had  seen  more  than  one  dead 
body  carried  out  of  that  shattered  car ;  but 
one  life  was  all  with  which  he  was  concerned, 


40  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

and  he  kept  on  until  he  found  a  farm  house, 
whose  inmates  he  startled  by  his  announce- 
ment of  the  railroad  accident. 

Checking  the  torrent  of  questions  that  were 
showered  upon  him,  he  quickly  arranged  with 
the  farmer  to  bring  a  wagon  to  the  scene  of 
the  wreck.  There  was  a  physician  among  the 
passengers,  whom  Louise  had  found  out  and 
brought  to  the  side  of  the  woman  she  had 
watched  over  faithfully  during  her  husband's 
absence. 

"  He  says  that  she  will  be  all  right,  but  she 
needs  care  and  attention,  Gilbert,"  she  told 
him  now.  "  She  seems  to  be  all  alone.  We 
will  go  with  her  to  the  house,  and  see  that  she 
is  made  comfortable." 

Dean  could  as  yet  scarcely  realize  that  all 
their  plans  had  been  changed  so  suddenly,  and 
by  Estelle,  of  all  people.  The  thought  that 
he  had  been  permitted  to  save  her  life  thrilled 
him,  and  yet,  at  the  same  time,  inspired  an 
awful  fear.  He  was  sensible  that  having 
risked  so  much  for  her,  she  was  now  more 
than  ever  endeared  to  him.  Fate  seemed 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  41 

determined  to  throw  them  together,  to  test 
them  to  the  uttermost.  How  should  he  be 
able  to  conceal  his  feelings  from  his  wife  ? 

And  Estelle  herself  ?  What  would  she  think, 
she  who  had  counseled  so  insistently  that  they 
two  must  not  see  each  other  again  ?  Precious 
as  this  opportunity  of  being  with  her,  of  being 
permitted  to  care  for  her,  would  be  to  him,  it 
must  needs  be  a  pleasure  much  fraught  with 
pain  to  them  both. 

Louise  had  not  recognized  in  Estelle  the 
actress  she  had  seen  the  previous  evening. 
She  was  indefatigable  in  her  attentions,  her 
quick  woman's  sympathy  going  out  unre- 
strainedly to  this  sister  who  had  escaped  so  nar- 
rowly from  a  horrible  death,  whom  her  own 
husband  had  saved. 

Estelle  was  unconscious  still.  Louise  held 
her  head  against  her  breast  during  the  drive 
up  to  the  house,  now  and  then  gently  stroking 
the  hair  back  from  the  temples.  It  seemed  to 
Dean  as  if  some  awful  catastrophe  were  im- 
pending. To  have  Estelle  so  close  to  him  and 
in  trouble,  and  not  be  able  to  take  her  in  his 


42  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

arms  and  claim  the  right  to  protect  her, 
would  be  torture  enough  ;  but  to  realize  that 
his  wife  was  filling  these  offices,  all  unsus- 
picious of  the  truth,  sent  a  dagger  thrust  to 
his  soul,  and  called  out  upon  his  brow  the 
heavy  drops  of  anguish. 

What  would  Estelle  say  when  conscious- 
ness returned?  How  could  he  steel  himself 
to  see  and  talk  with  her  before  Louise  as  he 
would  to  a  perfect  stranger,  which  his  wife 
naturally  thought  her  to  be  ?  The  tragedy  of 
death  they  had  left  behind  them,  he  told  him- 
self, was  as  nothing  to  the  tragedy  of  life 
which  might  lie  before. 


VI. 


TTALF  an  hour  later  Estelle  opened  her 
eyes  and  looked  into  the  face  of  the 
woman  who  had  been  with  Dean  in  the 
theater.  She  shivered  and  pressed  her  hand 
to  her  forehead. 

"It  is  all  right,"  said  Louise  soothingly. 
"  You  are  quite  safe  now." 

Still  the  look  of  horror  did  not  fade ;  Louise 
even  fancied  that  there  was  a  shrinking  from 
her  touch.  But  she  set  this  down  to  the 
shock  of  the  terrible  experience  through 
which  the  other  had  passed. 

"  You  are  not  in  pain,  are  you?  "  she  asked 
gently. 

Still  Estelle  made  no  reply,  but  her  glance 
went  beyond  Louise,  and  flashed  from  one  side 
of  the  room  to  the  other.  Here  was  the  wife  ; 
the  husband  could  not  be  far  away.  Fate  ap- 
peared determined  to  test  them  to  the  uttermost. 

43 


44  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

"  What  is  this  place  ?  Why  am  I  here  ? 
What  has  become  of  the  rest  of  the  com- 
pany ?  " 

As  the  last  question  was  put,  it  came  over 
Louise  where  she  had  seen  the  woman  before. 
An  actress !  But  Gilbert  Dean's  wife  was 
broad  minded.  She  took  one  of  the  white 
hands  in  hers  as  she  replied  in  her  soft  toned 
voice,  which  was  her  chiefest  charm,  "  There 
was  an  accident  on  the  railroad.  You  were 
brought  to  a  farm  house  near  by.  Now  don't 
worry  about  anything.  My  husband  will  see 
that  you  are  kept  in  communication  with  your 
friends.  He  has  gone  to  talk  with  some  of 
the  railroad  people  now." 

Although  Estelle's  eyes  were  fixed  on  the 
speaker,  she  scarcely  heard  a  word,  except 
"my  husband."  "An  accident,"  she  was 
thinking,  and  then  the  wish  came  that  she 
had  never  survived  it.  She  had  a  horror  of 
suicide  ;  it  was  so  cowardly  ;  but  then  to  have 
been  spared  the  pain  of  living  without  resort- 
ing to  that ;  to  have  been  eased  of  this 
burden  of  love  that  must  be  plucked  out  of 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  45 

the  heart — and  yet  still  carried  as  a  dead 
weight,  on  the  soul — it  seemed  cruel  to  have 
come  so  close  to  this  deliverance  only  to  miss 
it,  and  in  its  place  awake  to  an  ordeal  more 
bitter  than  any  she  had  yet  undergone ! 

And  this  was  Dean's  wife  bending  over  her  ! 
But  she  must  not  see  Gilbert  again.  She 
was  all  unstrung.  She  could  not  answer  for 
herself  now. 

"  I  must  get  away,"  she  said,  and  with  the 
words  she  fell  back  on  the  bed,  conscious  for 
the  first  time  of  a  numbness  of  body  that  made 
her  helpless. 

"  Oh,  no,  no  !  "  Louise  entreated.  "  You 
must  not  move.  You  had  a  very  narrow 
escape.  My  husband  drew  you  out  of  the  very 
midst  of  the  flames." 

"  He  saved  me  !  " 

There  was  a  sharp,  strange  ring  of  joy  to 
the  words.  A  look  of  almost  radiant  happiness 
flitted  into  the  face  of  the  actress,  only  to  die 
quickly  out,  leaving  in  its  place  death-like 
gloom.  Louise  could  not  understand  it  at  all. 
What  did  the  woman  mean  by  speaking,  by  act- 


46  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

ing  in  this  way  ?  But  probably  she  was  still 
under  the  influence  of  the  stupor  into  which 
the  accident  had  thrown  her,  and  was  not 
accountable  for  what  she  said. 

At  that  instant  Louise  heard  Gilbert's  voice. 
He  was  talking  with  the  farmer  on  the  porch. 
She  would  go  and  consult  him.  Going  softly 
out,  she  touched  Dean  on  the  arm  and  drew 
him  into  the  hallway. 

"  It  is  Marie  Myrwin,  the  actress,"  she  said. 
"  Did  you  recognize  her  ?  She  has  come  to,  but 
I  think  she  is  wandering  in  her  mind.  She 
acted  so  strangely  when  I  told  her  you  had 
taken  her  out  of  the  burning  car.  Did  you 
find  out  whether  she  had  any  friends  on  the 
train  ?  " 

"  They  have  gone  on.  There  will  be  a  train 
that  we  can  take  at  nine  in  the  morning. 
What — what  was  it  she  did  that  you  thought 
was  strange  ?  "  Dean  strove  to  keep  the  anxiety 
out  of  his  voice,  but  his  lips  were  dry. 

"  '  Did  he  save  me  ? '  she  exclaimed  ;  just  as 
though  it  made  any  difference  whether  it  was 
you  or  some  other  stranger.  But  then  I  sup- 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  47 

pose  the  poor  thing  scarcely  knows  what  she 
is  saying.  If  you  have  seen  her  friends,  you 
had  better  come  in  and  tell  her  about  them. 
She  was  asking  for  them." 

Dean  was  grateful  for  the  dimness  of  the 
lights  in  this  prairie  home.  There  was  less 
chance  of  his  wife  noticing  how  tightly  his 
hands  were  clenched,  with  the  nails  burying 
themselves  in  the  palms.  To  listen  to  Louise 
talk  of  Estelle  in  this  way,  was  torture,  con- 
vincing him,  as  it  did,  of  the  actress'  distracted 
state  of  mind.  What  if,  when  he  entered  the 
room,  she  should  stretch  out  her  arms  to  him 
and  cry  "  Gilbert  "  ? 

"  Coward  !  "  he  muttered,  apostrophizing 
himself,  and  with  his  wife,  went  into  the 
presence  of  the  woman  he  loved. 

She  was  looking  toward  the  door  as  though 
watching  for  him,  but  she  did  not  speak  as  he 
came  up  to  the  side  of  the  couch  and  looked 
down  into  her  face. 

"This  is  my  husband,"  Louise  said.  "  He 
has  seen  some  of  your  friends." 

"  Yes,"  Dean  went  on,  his  voice  having  a 


48  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

parched  sound,  as  though  it  came  from  a  great 
distance;  " they  have  gone  around  by  Midbury 
Junction.  You  can  go  on  with  us  in  the  morn- 
ing and  join  them  in  Kansas  City." 

Estelle  was  looking  steadily  up  into  his 
face.  Hers  was  pale  as  death,  and  yet  she 
had  never  seemed  more  beautiful  to  him. 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  she  murmured  faintly. 

A  tender  light  came  into  her  eyes.  Dean 
dared  not  trust  himself  within  range  of  its 
magnetism.  Muttering  something  about  hav- 
ing to  see  the  farmer  in  regard  to  accommoda- 
tions for  the  night,  he  hurriedly  left  the  room. 
Louise  followed  him  presently,  and  found  him 
smoking  as  he  paced  up  and  down  the  scraggly 
path  to  the  gate.  She  thrust  her  arm  through 
his,  and  after  they  had  walked  the  length  of 
the  path  together,  she  said  musingly  : 

"  I  have  found  another  thing  to  be  grateful 
for,  Gilbert :  that  I  am  not  an  actress.  So 
much  simulation  of  emotions  that  one  does  not 
feel,  causes  one  to  lose  the  capacity  for  thor- 
ough appreciation  of  anything  that  befalls  one 
personally,  whether  it  be  joy  or  sorrow.  That 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  49 

woman  in  yonder,  for  instance,  seems  like  a 
stone,  utterly  indifferent ;  and  yet  for  this  very 
cause,  I  don't  know  when  my  sympathy  has 
been  so  warmly  excited." 

Dean  was  already  anticipating  the  morrow ; 
that  all  day  ride  with  Estelle,  with  his  wife 
in  the  party.  And  yet  beneath  the  dread,  was 
a  fierce  undercurrent  of  joy  over  the  fact  that 
he  was  not  yet  to  be  separated  from  her, 
would  still  be  permitted  to  look  into  those 
eyes  in  whose  forbidden  depths  he  saw  the  only 
happiness  life  held  for  him. 

At  this  moment  the  farmer's  wife  came  run- 
ing  out  excitedly. 

"  Oh,  ma'am,"  she  exclaimed,  "  the  lady's 
took  with  a  bad  turn." 

"  I  should  not  have  left  her,"  said  Louise 
contritely,  and  hastened  into  the  house. 

It  was  all  Dean  could  do  to  restrain  himself 
from  following  her.  But  he  knew  that  if  he 
should  see  Estelle  suffering  he  would  lose  all 
sense  of  caution. 

"  For  Louise's  sake,"  he  told  himself,  "  I 
must  be  the  hypocrite  still." 


50  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

And  then  a  new  fear  beset  him.  What  if 
Estelle  should  become  delirious  and  say 
things  that  would  reveal  all  ?  The  mere  men- 
tion of  his  name  would  be  fatal.  Why  had 
he  not  told  his  wife  that  he  had  discovered 
they  were  old  friends?  It  was  too  late  now. 
The  mask  had  been  assumed,  and  it  must  be 
worn  until  destiny  should  snatch  it  away. 

"  Gilbert ! " 

Louise  had  come  to  the  door,  and  was  calling 
him  softly.  Dean's  heart  stood  still.  Her 
tone  seemed  to  have  that  awe  in  it  which  we 
employ  when  speaking  of  the  dead.  He  was 
instantly  at  his  wife's  side. 

"  What  is  it?"  he  asked  in  a  voice  so  husky 
that  it  was  scarcely  audible. 

"  Stay  here  by  the  open  door  and  watch," 
Louise  said.  "  I  must  see  the  woman  in  the 
kitchen.  The  poor  thing  in  there  is  quieter  now 
considerably.  If  she  calls  out  again  let  me 
know  at  once.  You  don't  mind,  dear,  do  you  ? 
Think  how  grateful  you  would  be  for  friends 
to  be  raised  up  for  me  if  I  was  placed  as  this 
poor  woman  is." 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  51 

Each  word  was  a  fresh  stab  for  Dean,  who 
already  despised  himself  utterly.  But "  Go  on," 
he  said.  "  I  will  watch." 

The  next  instant  he  was  alone  with  Estelle, 
only  the  width  of  the  room  between  them. 
But  he  dared  not  speak  to  her.  His  wife 
might  return  any  instant.  Still  he  knew  that 
Estelle  was  looking  at  him,  was  longing  for 
him,  and  yet  fearing  that  he  would  come.  It 
seemed  heartless  for  him  to  stand  here  and 
utter  not  one  word  of  sympathy.  He  remained 
in  the  doorway,  looking  out  over  the  dreary 
prairie,  yet  seeing  nothing  but  that  on  which 
he  dared  not  rest  his  eyes.  He  thought  of 
the  tortures  of  Tantalus,  and  then,  with  a 
mighty  effort,  he  sought  to  force  his  mind  en- 
tirely away  from  this  incident  of  a  pleasure 
trip  and  put  it  on  business.  This  detention 
would  make  them  a  day  late  in  reaching 
home.  He  ought  to  telegraph  to  the  factory. 
He  wished  Louise  would  hurry  back.  What 
an  anomalous  position  it  was  for  him,  one  of 
the  principal  business  men  in  Islington,  to 
be  playing  attendant  on  an  actress  he  was 


52  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

supposed  never  to  have  seen  till  the  night  be- 
fore! 

This  was  the  line  in  which  he  compelled 
his  thoughts  to  travel,  but  at  this  point  they 
forsook  his  leadership  and  branched  off  in  a 
direction  that  caused  his  breath  to  come  in 
quicker  gasps.  Why  must  he  stay  here  in 
the  doorway?  He  had  saved  this  woman's 
life,  and  strangers  though  they  were  supposed 
to  be,  it  was  not  necessary  that  he  should 
always  keep  the  whole  width  of  a  room  be- 
tween them.  Indeed,  was  he  not  giving  rise 
to  suspicion  by  this  very  excess  of  caution  ? 
Arguing  thus,  and  with  the  wish  mothering 
the  act,  it  was  not  many  seconds  before  Dean 
had  left  the  doorway,  and  was  moving  softly 
across  the  floor  toward  the  sofa. 

He  was  within  a  foot  of  it,  Estelle  had 
just  opened  her  eyes  as  though  instinc- 
tively feeling  his  approach,  when  Louise's 
voice  sounded  in  the  hall. 

"Gilbert,  you  haven't  deserted  your  post, 
have  you  ?  " 

Then,  as  she  saw  where  he  was,  she  hurried 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  53 

forward  with  the  cry,  "Oh,  has  she  fainted 
again  ?  " 

The  flush  of  conscious  guilt  overspread 
Dean's  face. 

"  No,"  he  replied  lamely.  "  I  wanted  to 
see  if  she  was  sleeping." 

But  Louise's  mind  was  too  much  absorbed 
in  her  patient  to  have  room  for  surmises  on  a 
matter  that  would  seem  so  incomprehensible 
to  her  as  the  possibility  of  her  husband's 
defection. 

"  Yes,  and  you  probably  waked  her  up  with 
your  efforts  to  tread  cautiously,"  she  returned, 
with  a  frown  at  him  and  a  smile  for  Estelle. 
"  These  men  are  all  alike.  Now  go  out  and 
smoke  your  cigar,  dear." 

This  last  was  accompanied  by  a  little  push 
against  his  arm,  which  was  in  reality  a  caress. 
Dean  felt  it  there  long  after  he  was  out  under 
the  stars  ;  the  sensation  seemed  to  linger  with 
the  persistency  of  some  poisonous  sting.  He 
no  longer  had  any  confidence  in  himself.  The 
only  refuge  for  him  was  flight,  and  yet  how 
could  he  flee  when  his  own  wife  had  taken 


54  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

possession  of  the  woman  who  had  come  be- 
tween them? 

Suddenly  the  gate  latch  clicked  and  a  man 
came  up  the  path.  He  stopped  Dean  with 
the  remark  :  "  I  beg  your  pardon,  but  is  this 
the  house  where  Miss  Myrwin  was  taken  ?  " 

Dean  stopped  short  in  his  walk,  and  a  jealous 
frown  wrinkled  his  brow. 

"  Yes,"  he  said  briefly. 

"  Is  she  seriously  injured  ?  "  went  on  the  other. 

"  No  ;  not  seriously,  but " 

They  had  been  walking  toward  the  house, 
and  just  then  Craddock,  the  farmer,  who  had 
heard  a  team  drive  up,  opened  the  door,  letting 
a  flood  of  light  out  into  the  yard,  and  in  that 
glare  the  two  men  walking  up  the  path  recog- 
nized each  other.  Dean  knew  his  companion 
to  be  the  leading  juvenile  of  the  "  Borrowed 
Plumes"  company,  while  the  latter  exclaimed : 
"  By  Jove,  her  gallant  rescuer !  "  Then  he 
added  :  "  You  are  a  hero,  sir.  Bravest  thing 
I  ever  saw  done.  I  was  in  a  terrible  funk 
myself.  Never  thought  of  lending  a  hand  to  a 
soul.  I  suppose  I  can  see  Marie  !  " 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  55 

Dean  felt  like  knocking  the  fellow  down  at 
hearing  him  speak  of  Estelle  in  this  familiar 
strain. 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  answered.  "  I  will  call 
my  wife." 

The  other  gave  a  low  whistle,  which  escaped 
Dean's  attention.  A  fierce,  unreasoning  jeal- 
ousy was  burning  within  him. 

"  Who  shall  I  say  it  is  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Tell  her  Harry  has  come  to  inquire  after 
her." 

Dean  hurried  inside.  He  dared  not  trust 
himself  long  with  this  fellow. 

"  Louise,"  he  called,  at  door  of  the  "  best 
room." 

She  came  to  him  at  once,  and  he  announced 
his  errand. 

"  Well,"  she  exclaimed,  "  I'm  glad  some  of 
them  had  the  grace  to  think  of  her.  Miss 
Myrwin,"  she  added,  turning  toward  the  sofa, 
"  some  one  from  the  company  is  here  inquir- 
ing for  you." 

"  Let  him  come  in,"  said  Estelle  eagerly. 
"  Tell  him  I  will  see  him  at  once." 


56  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

Louise  accompanied  her  husband  outside 
when  he  bore  this  message.  The  caller  passed 
into  the  room  they  had  left,  carrying  his 
cigarette  with  him.  The  windows  were  open, 
for  the  evening  was  warm,  and  it  was  impos- 
sible not  to  overhear  his  side  of  the  conver- 
sation. 

"  Take  you  away  ? "  were  the  first  words 
that  came  to  Dean's  ears.  "  Cert.  That's  what 
Roberts  wanted  me  to  do,  if  you  were  able  to 
go.  But  I  understood  you  were  all  broken  up. 
Steady,  there.  Guess  you're  not  as  strong  as 
you  thought  you  were,  Marie." 

"  Gilbert,"  exclaimed  Louise,  "  he  is  trying 
to  get  the  poor  girl  away  !  She  is  not  fit  to  be 
moved.  Why,  she  can't  hold  her  head  up.  Go 
in  and  tell  him  so." 

Dean  waited  for  no  second  suggestion. 
While  he  knew  well  enough  why  Estelle  was 
so  anxious  to  get  away  from  the  farmhouse,  it 
maddened  him  to  think  of  her  going  with  a 
fellow  like  this  actor.  Besides,  as  Louise 
said,  she  really  was  not  fit.  But  when  he 
entered  the  room  he  saw  immediately  that 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  57 

his  interference  was  not  necessary.  Estelle 
had  sunk  back  on  the  sofa,  inert  and  almost 
lifeless. 

"  Hard  luck,  isn't  it?  "  said  the  actor,  turn- 
ing to  Dean.  "  She  hasn't  the  strength  to 
move.  Well,  I'll  go  back  and  report  to 
Roberts.  I  think  she  has  fainted  again.  Per- 
haps your  wife  had  better  take  a  look  at  her. 
Awfully  kind  in  you  to  take  so  much  in- 
terest." 

This  was  added  as  the  fellow  paused  on  the 
porch  to  light  a  fresh  cigarette,  after  Louise 
had  gone  inside. 

Dean  made  no  reply. 

"  By  the  way,"  the  other  went  on,  stopping 
suddenly  as  he  was  about  to  start  toward  his 
buggy,  "  haven't  I  seen  you  somewhere  be- 
fore?" 

Dean's  thoughts  at  once  leaped  to  the  wings 
of  that  Beverley  theater,  and  instinctively  he 
turned  his  head  to  see  if  Louise  were  within 
hearing. 

"  My  wife  and  I  occupied  front  seats  at  the 
performance  last  night,"  he  said.  "  Very  pos- 


58  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

sibly  you  saw  me  there  from  the  stage.  I  re- 
member you  very  well." 

"  No ;  it  couldn't  have  been  there,  because 
it  was  something  in  your  walk,  as  I  came  out 
behind  you  just  now,  that  seemed  familiar. 
Ah,  I  have  it ;  you  were  behind  last  night. 
I  saw  you  as  I  came  off.  You  were  just  leav- 
ing Miss  Myrwin's  dressing  room.  Of  course 
it  is  all  plain  now,  and  very  natural  that  you 
should  be  so  kind  to  her." 

Dean  gasped,  as  he  stood  there  in  the  shadow, 
listening  to  words  which  were  quite  loud 
enough  to  penetrate  to  his  wife's  ear  were  she 
paying  any  attention  to  them.  And  yet  he 
could  not  beg  the  other  to  speak  lower,  nor 
could  he  deny  that  he  was  the  man.  The 
perspiration  broke  out  on  his  forehead.  He 
fancied  that  there  was  an  undercurrent  of  mean- 
ing to  the  player's  last  sentence.  Dean  resented 
this  as  an  impertinence,  and  yet  was  not  the 
imputation  true  ?  Had  he  not  concealed  from 
his  wife  the  real  reason  of  his  leaving  her  at 
the  theater  ?  Was  she  not  still  in  ignorance 
that  he  was  an  old  friend  of  the  woman  for 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  59 

whom  she  was  now  so  assiduously  caring? 
Dean  knew  not  what  reply  to  make,  so  made 
none. 

"  Well,  so  long,"  added  the  actor.  "Is'pose 
we'll  see  you  before  long. "  With  which  parting 
shot  he  climbed  into  his  buggy,  and  vanished 
in  the  darkness. 


VII. 

T  OUISE  insisted  on  passing  the  night  with 
*•*  Estelle. 

"  She  is  feverish,  and  horribly  restless,"  she 
told  Dean.  "  She  seems  to  have  something 
on  her  mind  that  is  worrying  her,  entirely 
apart  from  the  accident." 

Dean  himself  slept  little.  Hour  after  hour 
he  lay  on  the  sofa  where  Estelle  had  been, 
thinking,  planning,  regretting,  hoping.  His 
brain  a  wild  chaos  of  contradictory  emotions,  it 
was  small  wonder  there  was  no  opportunity  for 
that  calm  to  prevail  which  must  precede 
repose.  One  instant  he  was  abusing  himself 
before  his  conscience  as  the  master  hypocrite, 
recalling  his  subterfuge  for  gaining  that  inter- 
view with  Estelle  on  the  train  ;  at  another  his 
head  swam  with  a  delirium  of  joy  as  vivid 
memory  summoned  forth  that  moment  in  the 

theater  dressing  room  when  he  held  Estelle  in  his 
60 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  6 1 

arms  and  kissed  her.  What  conventionalities, 
what  sacred  ties  even,  would  he  not  trample 
under  foot  to  obtain  such  another  moment  of 
bliss  ? 

Then  the  picture  would  change  swiftly.  He 
would  see  himself  back  in  Islington,  serving 
perhaps,  as  he  often  had,  on  a  committee  of 
citizens  to  preserve  law  and  order  in  the  town. 
Or,  it  might  be,  he  was  sitting  at  the  head  of 
their  pew  at  St  Michael's ;  or  passing  the 
plate.  "  Hypocrite  "  was  emblazoned  on  his 
forehead  as  he  moved  up  and  down  the  aisles, 
and  women  drew  their  skirts  aside  from  pos- 
sible contact  with  him. 

But  once  again  the  memory  of  that  inter- 
view in  the  dressing  room  would  soothe  away 
the  conscience  pangs,  and  at  last  he  fell 
asleep,  to  dream  of  those  old  days  in  New 
England  when  Estelle  was  the  queen  of  his 
boyish  heart,  and  it  was  no  stain  on  his  honor 
to  do  her  homage.  All  too  brief,  though,  was 
this  vision.  It  was  succeeded  by  one  in  which 
unseen  forces  seemed  to  be  dragging  him  to  a 
doom  whose  nature  he  did  not  know,  but 


62  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

whose  full  horror  was  so  borne  in  upon  him 
that  he  awoke  in  terror. 

Dawn  was  straggling  in  at  the  window. 
He  looked  about  him  at  the  unaccustomed 
surroundings  mystified.  Then,  as  recollec- 
tion asserted  itself,  and  he  realized  that 
Estelle  had  spent  the  night  in  the  same  room 
with  Louise,  a  deadly  fear  took  possession  of 
him. 

"  Why  did  I  permit  such  a  thing  ?"  he 
asked  himself.  "  Estelle  is  not  herself. 
There  is  no  knowing  what  she  may  have  said 
in  her  delirium.  And  if  Louise  should 
discover ! " 

He  recalled  scenes  on  the  stage  where  the 
wife  had  denounced  her  husband  to  his  face. 
His  fancy  even  went  further,  and  conjured 
up  an  item  in  the  newspaper,  made  timely  by 
its  connection  with  the  railway  disaster,  in 
which  Craddock,  the  farmer,  should  tell  how 
all  the  parties  in  the  scandal  had  sought  refuge 
at  his  house.  But  Dean  forcibly  put  these 
thoughts  away  from  him. 

"It  is  only  my  guilty  conscience  summons 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  63 

such  specters  forth,"  he  told  himself.  "  Estelle 
will  be  in  our  company  but  a  day  longer. 
Then  I  may  suffer,  but  Louise  need  never 
know." 

"Gilbert!" 

Dean  started  guiltily  as  his  wife's  voice 
fell  on  his  ear.  But  there  was  a  smile  of 
morning  greeting  for  him  and  a  kiss  as  he 
went  up  to  her.  He  was  respited  yet  a 
while. 

"  How  is  the — how  is  Miss  Myrwin?"  he 
inquired. 

"  She  is  better,  I  am  sure,  and  able  to 
travel,  but  she  acts  so  strangely.  She  is  so 
quiet  and  sad,  and  lies  there  and  looks  at  me 
in  such  an  odd  way.  Really,  Gilbert,  it  quite 
made  me  creep.  At  what  time  must  we 
leave?" 

"  At  eight  Craddock  is  to  have  the  wagon 
ready  for  us.  Is  not — Miss  Myrwin  coming 
out  to  breakfast  ?  " 

"  Yes;  presently." 

When  Estelle  appeared  at  the  table,  what  a 
farce  it  seemed — the  formal  "  Good  morning  " 


64  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

which  she  and  Dean  exchanged.  Then  "  I 
trust  you  are  feeling  fully  recovered,"  he  went 
on  perfunctorily,  and  "Yes,  thank  you,"  she 
replied.  .  Only  for  the  briefest  intervals  did 
their  eyes  meet,  and  most  of  the  talking  dur- 
ing the  drive  to  the  junction  was  done  by 
Louise. 

"  Do  you  know,"  she  said,  "  I  never  met  an 
actress  before.  Have  you  been  on  the  stage 
long,  Miss  Myrwin  ?  " 

"  Just  five  years,"  Estelle  replied,  and  Dean, 
on  the  front  seat  with  Craddock,  knew  the 
ordeal  she  was  undergoing. 

"  And  were  your  people  professionals,  too  ?  " 
continued  Louise,  not  out  of  curiosity,  but  be- 
cause she  felt  that  the  other  might  think  she 
disapproved  of  her  if  she  did  not  talk.  And 
Gilbert  remained  so  obstinately  silent. 

"  Oh,  no.  How  dreary  it  is  out  here,  is  it 
not  ?  "  At  the  risk  of  seeming  rude,  Estelle 
felt  impelled  to  change  the  subject.  She 
could  not  talk  of  herself  to  Gilbert's  wife.  At 
the  best,  each  moment  was  torture  to  her. 
There,  in  front  of  her,  sat  the  man  she  loved, 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  65 

who  had  risked  his  life  only  yesterday  to  save 
hers,  and  yet  she  dared  not  bestow  one  affec- 
tionate look  on  him. 

There  was  but  little  else  said  during  the 
remainder  of  the  drive.  And  matters  were  not 
improved  when  they  boarded  the  train,  for  all 
sitting  in  the  one  section,  as  was  natural, 
Dean  and  Estelle  were  brought  face  to  face. 
In  proportion  to  the  joy  Gilbert  would  have 
experienced  in  studying  every  lineament  of 
that  dear  countenance  under  other  circum- 
stances, so  great  was  the  pain  to  look  thereon 
now,  and  yet  repress  every  thrill  of  emotion 
the  sight  awakened.  And  yet,  with  the  in- 
consistency of  mortals,  Dean  begrudged  every 
mile  that  was  covered,  bringing  them  nearer 
to  the  end  of  that  journey  which  would  mean 
that  he  would  see  Estelle  no  more.  But  he 
could  not  part  from  her  thus,  he  told  himself. 
There  were  a  hundred  things  he  must  say  to 
her,  many  facts  to  be  explained.  After  they 
reached  their  present  destination,  he  would 
surely  be  able  to  contrive  some  way  of  seeing 
her  alone. 


66  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

Buoyed  up  by  this  hope,  he  was  more  talk- 
ative during  the  dinner  which  they  ate  to- 
gether in  the  dining  car. 

"  How  long  do  you  remain  in  Kansas  City, 
Miss  Myrwin?"  he  asked. 

"  Three  nights,"  she  replied. 

"  And  shall  you  play  '  Borrowed  Plumes ' 
all  that  time?  "  interjected  Louise.  "  I  should 
like  to  see  you  in  something  else.  We  are 
going  to  stay  over  a  day  or  two." 

"  We  play  the  '  Plumes '  all  the  time,"  an- 
swered Estelle,  adding,  with  a  faint  smile, 
"  That's  what  the  people  come  to  see,  because 
stars  made  a  hit  in  it  last  season.  They  don't 
care  a  fig  for  us." 

After  they  returned  to  their  car  Louise  fell 
asleep,  with  her  head  pillowed  on  Dean's 
shoulder.  If  the  morning  had  been  a  time  of 
trial,  the  afternoon  had  been  turned  into  a 
regular  court  of  inquisition.  One  instant 
Dean  felt  himself  to  be  a  monster,  realizing 
how  fully  his  love  was  trusted  by  the  woman 
at  his  side.  The  next  he  was  glancing  at  the 
opposite  seat,  wishing  Estelle  would  look  up 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  67 

from  her  book  that  they  might  exchange  one 
glance  of  mutual  comprehension.  But  she 
would  not  do  this,  and  at  last  he  ventured  to 
speak. 

"That  must  be  a  very  interesting  story?" 
he  said. 

"Not  particularly,"  Bstelle  replied,  still 
keeping  her  eyes  on  the  page. 

"  The  other  passengers  will  think  we  have 
quarreled,"  Dean  went  on,  "if  we  remain  so 
studiously  indifferent  to  each  other." 

Estelle  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"  What  they  think  is  nothing  to  me,"  she 
answered.  "  Besides,  our  talking  may  disturb 
your  wife." 

"  You  are  cruel,  Es " 

He  checked  himself  as  she  flashed  at  him  a 
warning  glance  that  thrilled  him  through  and 
through.  After  an  instant  of  silence  he  began 
again. 

"  Who  was  that  fellow,  calling  himself 
'  Harry,'  who  came  to  the  farmhouse  last  night? 
He  seemed  to  know  you  very  well.  Have  you 
been  playing  together  long?" 


68  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

"  Only  this  season.  He  is  really  a  very  con- 
venient boy  to  have  at  hand."  Estelle 
closed  her  book,  and  began  looking  out  of  the 
window. 

"Ah,"  said  Dean.  "  I  suppose  he  accom- 
panies you  home  from  the  theater  more  often 
than  the  others?" 

Bstelle  gave  a  little  laugh,  which  Dean  knew 
at  once  was  a  forced  one,  such  as  she  would 
use  on  the  stage. 

"  As  often  as  his  wife  will  let  him,"  she 
answered.  "  She  is  half  a  dozen  years  older 
than  he,  and  plays  the  first  old  lady." 

Dean  divined  at  once  that  Estelle  was  trying 
to  disgust  him  with  her  by  assuming  the  tone 
of  a  certain  class  of  her  profession  from  whom 
she  was  by  nature  removed  an  infinite  distance. 
The  effort  it  cost  her  to  do  this  was  apparent 
in  the  tone  of  the  voice,  in  the  sudden  drop- 
ping of  the  eyes — in  her  whole  attitude.  A 
fairly  good  actress  on  the  stage,  she  was  a 
poor  one  when  it  came  to  deceiving  the  man 
she  loved.  So  Dean  smiled  and  shook  his 
head,  and  said  "  Poorly  played,  mademoiselle," 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  69 

with  as  near  an  approach  to  lightness  of  heart 
as  he  had  experienced  for  the  past  forty  eight 
hours. 

The  halting  of  the  train  woke  Louise,  and 
for  the  rest  of  the  journey  the  conversation 
was  general,  pertaining  mostly  to  the  country 
through  which  they  were  passing.  It  was 
dark  when  they  arrived  at  Kansas  City,  and 
Estelle  said  she  would  be  obliged  to  go  at 
once  to  the  theater,  when  Dean  asked  her  at 
what  hotel  she  wished  to  be  set  down.  Louise 
had  insisted  that  she  take  a  seat  in  the  carriage 
from  the  station. 

The  driver  knew  where  the  theater  was 
located,  and  when  he  drew  up  at  the  stage 
door  Estelle  held  out  her  hand  to  Louise. 

"  You  have  been  very  kind  indeed  to  me," 
she  said.  "  I  cannot  thank  you  ;  can  only  try 
to  do  so,  but  believe  me,  I  am  grateful." 

Dean  was  already  on  the  sidewalk. 

"  I  am  coming  for  you  after  the  performance 
tonight,"  he  whispered,  as  he  walked  the  few 
paces  between  the  curb  and  the  doorway  with 
her. 


70  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

"  You  must  not,"  she  told  him,  giving  him 
her  hand.  "  Good  by." 

"  I  must  see  you  alone  once  more,"  he  per- 
sisted, "  so  it  is  au  revoir" 

And  he  was  gone  before  she  could  again 
forbid  him. 


VIII. 

TTALF  past  ten  that  same  night.  The 
Deans'  friends  had  made  them  royally 
welcome,  but  Louise  pleaded  fatigue  as  an  ex- 
cuse for  retiring  early.  "  Come,  Gilbert,"  she 
said ;  "  you  must  be  worn  out,  too.  You 
could  have  had  no  adequate  rest  on  that  sofa 
last  night." 

"  I  am  not  tired,  dear,"  replied  Dean,  already 
perplexed  as  to  the  manner  in  which  he  could 
keep  his  appointment  with  Estelle.  There 
was  no  parleying  with  conscience  now ;  for 
the  nonce  that  appendage  of  his  moral  nature 
appeared  to  have  retired  from  the  field.  The 
only  thing  that  worried  him  was  the  difficulty 
in  the  way  of  leaving  the  Fords'  and  getting 
back  again.  It  would  look  odd  to  ask  for  a 
latchkey.  Yet  he  had  determined  on  taking 
Estelle  to  supper,  and  it  would  be  too  late  to 
ring  the  bell  when  he  returned. 


72  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

He  went  with  his  wife  to  their  room,  feeling 
that  it  would  be  a  simpler  matter  to  get  away 
from  her  than  to  give  reasons  to  Ford  and  his 
wife  in  addition.  He  seated  himself  in  a 
chair  by  the  window,  and  looked  down  into 
the  street. 

"  I  believe  I  will  go  out  and  take  a  walk," 
he  said  suddenly,  pausing  in  the  act  of  winding 
his  watch. 

"  Why,  Gilbert ! "  exclaimed  Louise.  "  How 
absurd,  at  this  hour  ?  " 

"  It  is  not  late,"  he  responded.  "  Only 
half  past  ten.  I  haven't  had  any  sort  of  exer- 
cise today.  I  am  certain  I  could  not  sleep 
without  it." 

Louise  came  over  and  put  her  arms  about 
his  neck. 

"  My  poor  boy,"  she  said,  "  you  have  not 
been  quite  yourself  since  you  went  into  that 
burning  car.  You  know  better  than  I  what 
is  best  for  you.  Go  and  take  your  walk, 
but  wait — let  me  go  to  Jessie  and  get  a 
latchkey,  that  you  need  not  ring  when  you 
come  back." 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  73 

Dean's  conscience  did  stir  uneasily  when 
Louise  sped  away  on  this  errand,  but  he  stifled 
it  by  assuring  himself  that  it  was  the  last 
time ;  tomorrow  they  would  start  for  Isling- 
ton, and  it  was  not  likely  he  should  ever  see 
Estelle  again.  But  he  must  bid  her  good  by  ; 
have  a  few  parting  words  which  only  they  two 
should  hear. 

Louise  came  back  with  a  relieved  look. 

"  Tom  says  he  will  go  with  you,"  she  an- 
nounced. "  He  has  been  troubled  some  with 
insomnia,  and  thinks,  with  you,  that  a  little 
stroll  may  help  him.  Now  be  sure  you  two  men 
don't  get  into  any  mischief,  and  be  back  soon." 

She  helped  him  on  with  his  coat,  gave  him 
a  kiss,  and  then  held  him  close  for  an  instant. 
And  he — he  was  scarcely  conscious  of  any  of 
those  things.  His  mind  was  all  astir  planning 
means  of  getting  rid  of  Tom  Ford.  Why  had 
he  allowed  Louise  to  ask  for  that  key  ?  But 
he  determined  not  to  be  balked  of  his  design. 
He  would  find  some  way  of  giving  Tom  the 
slip.  The  latter  was  waiting  for  him  in  the 
lower  hall. 


74  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

"Glad  you  thought  of  this  scheme,  Dean?" 
he  said.  "  We'll  take  a  brisk  turn  of  twenty 
minutes,  then  perhaps  I  can  sleep.  Let  me 
see,  which  way  shall  we  go  ?  " 

"  Down  town,"  replied  Dean  promptly. 
"I'd  like  to  see  a  little  of  your  city's  night  life 
at  the  heart  of  it.  And  come  to  think,"  he 
added,  "  I  want  to  stop  in  at  one  of  your 
prominent  hotels  and  look  over  the  register. 
There  may  be  a  man  I  know  stopping  there." 

They  started  off.  Ford  talked  volubly  of  the 
growth  of  his  city,  and  pointed  out  various 
structures  of  interest  as  they  passed  them. 
But  Dean  paid  little  heed.  He  took  note  only 
of  the  fleeting  minutes,  realizing  that  if  he 
reached  the  theater  after  Estelle  had  left  it 
he  would  not  know  where  to  find  her,  as  she 
was  ignorant  at  which  hotel  the  company 
would  stay.  He  was  remorseless  in  his  inten- 
tion to  get  rid  of  Ford  ;  he  cared  not  by  what 
means  he  accomplished  his  end.  In  con- 
trasting his  present  frame  of  mind  with  his 
normal  one,  he  recalled  Stevenson's  story  of 
Jekyl  and  Hyde.  It  seemed  odd,  he  reflected, 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  75 

that  love,  supposed  to  be  the  noblest  sentiment 
in  the  world,  should  be  capable  of  so  transform- 
ing character. 

It  was  ten  minutes  to  eleven  when  they 
entered  the  corridor  of  a  large  hotel.  "  '  Bor- 
rowed Plumes '  is  not  a  long  play,"  Dean  was 
reminding  himself  nervously.  "  I  think  it  was 
over  the  other  night  soon  after  half  past  ten. 
I  haven't  an  instant  to  lose." 

He  was  bending  over  the  register,  not  seeing 
one  of  the  names  on  the  page  down  which  his 
finger  was  traveling.  He  raised  his  eyes  and 
glanced  toward  the  door,  with  Ford  still  look- 
ing over  his  shoulder. 

"  By  Jove,"  he  exclaimed,  in  well  simulated 
surprise,  "  there  he  goes.  Excuse  me  a  minute, 
Tom,"  and  off  he  darted. 

Once  on  the  sidewalk,  Dean  strode  rapidly 
off  in  the  direction  of  the  theater.  Even  while 
his  cheeks  flushed  with  shame  at  the  ruse  he 
had  played  on  his  friend,  his  heart  was  pound- 
ing away  mightily  at  the  thought  of  soon 
being  with  Estelle  again.  Although  it  was 
barely  three  hours  since  he  had  seen  her,  it 


76  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

seemed  an  age  to  Dean.  He  was  panting 
when  he  arrived  at  the  stage  door.  Already 
some  of  the  members  of  the  cast  were  leav- 
ing it.  Dean  recalled  the  fact  that  Harry 
Vane  might  see  him,  but  he  did  not 
care.  He  would  see  Estelle — if  she  had  not 
gone. 

"  Has  Miss  Myrwin  passed  out  yet  ?  "  he  in- 
quired eagerly  of  the  doorkeeper. 

"  Don't  know  her,"  was  the  short  answer. 
"  First  night  the  company's  here." 

Dean  had  his  hand  in  his  pocket,  to  fee  the 
man  to  let  him  step  inside  and  look  around, 
when  Estelle  herself  appeared.  Vane  was  with 
her.  She  frowned  when  she  saw  Dean,  but 
having  thrust  aside  so  many  obstacles  in  his 
path  up  to  this  point,  he  was  not  to  be  checked 
now. 

"  I  have  come  to  keep  my  appointment,"  he 
said  quietly,  offering  his  arm. 

Vane  dropped  back,  with  a  courteous 
"Good  evening,  Mr.  Dean."  Estelle  took  the 
arm  and  said  nothing  until  they  reached  the 
sidewalk.  Then — 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  77 

"  Why  did  you  come  ?  "  she  began.  "  Have 
I  not  already  been  tortured  sufficiently  ?  " 

"  And  I  ?  "  he  returned.  "  Do  you  think  I 
have  not  suffered  with  you  ?  And  could  you 
imagine  that  I  could  bear  to  part  thus?  " 

"  But  think  of  the  risk,  Gilbert  ?  Does 
your  wife  know  you  have  come  to  see  me? 
Does " 

"  Let  us  not  talk  of  others,  Estelle,  in  the 
brief  time  we  have  together.  I  want  you  to  go 
to  supper  with  me,  to  hear  you  say " 

"  No,  no,  Gilbert,  I  cannot.  It  is  not  right 
to  try  me  so.  It  is  hard  enough  as  it  is  for 
me." 

They  were  walking  slowly  along  the  quiet 
street  which  ran  in  the  rear  of  the  one  on 
which  the  theater  fronted.  Lifting  her  face 
towards  Dean's  in  the  glare  of  an  arc  lamp, 
Bstelle  continued  rapidly: 

"  Gilbert,  what  if  right  here  I  should  throw 
my  arms  about  your  neck,  should  declare  I 
loved  you  passionately,  and  beg  you  to  abandon 
wife,  home,  friends,  career,  respectability — 
everything  that  has  lifted  you  to  the  plane  you 


78  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

now  occupy — and  come  with  me?  If  I  should 
do  this  and  you  should  consent,  think  you, 
Gilbert,  that  you  would  be  happy,  or  I  ? 
Would  not  the  specter  of  the  past  be  ever  at 
our  side  ?  Heaven  knows,  I  am  weak  enough. 
When  I  recall  what  you  were  to  me  once, 
what  you  did  for  me  only  yesterday,  what  I 
know  you  feel  for  me  every  minute  of  the  day, 
my  heart  rebels,  but  there  is  no  appeal  from 
the  fate  that  has  separated  us.  I  am  right, 
Gilbert.  You  must  admit  that  I  am." 

"  Even  if  you  are,  dear,"  Dean  replied,  "  all 
the  more  reason  that  you  should  give  me  the 
opportunity  to  talk  with  you  tonight.  The 
present  is  ours.  Let  us  make  the  most  of  it.  You 
will  go  to  supper  with  me  now,  will  you  not?" 

"  Yes,  if  you  will  promise  that  you  will 
never  try  to  meet  me  again,  nor  write  to  me 
even." 

"You  may  trust  me,  Estelle,  but  in  turn 
you  must  not  forget  the  promise  you  made  me 
yesterday —  to  send  to  me  whenever  you  were 
in  trouble  of  any  kind,  or  needed  a  friend. 
You  know  where  I  can  be  found." 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  79 

They  had  turned  into  the  more  brilliantly 
lighted  thoroughfare,  and  as  they  strolled 
along  till  they  should  come  to  a  restaurant, 
Dean  was  suddenly  conscious  that  Tom  Ford 
had  just  passed  them.  Had  he  seen  him  ? 
There  was  no  means  of  knowing.  There 
would  be  time  enough  to  think  of  that  after 
he  had  left  Estelle.  He  would  not  borrow 
worry  from  the  future. 

It  was  after  one  o'clock  when  they  rose  from 
that  supper.  Forcibly  banishing  all  cares  from 
his  mind,  Dean  had  enjoyed  every  minute  of 
it.  Estelle,  too,  threw  off  the  restraint  she 
had  lately  imposed  on  herself,  and  was  the 
fascinating  creature,  tenfold  intensified,  she 
had  been  as  his  boyish  ideal. 

"  And  now  it  is,  it  must  be  good  by,  not  au 
revoir,  Gilbert,"  she  said,  when  he  had 
walked  to  the  hotel  with  her. 

"  Unless  you  send  for  me,"  he  answered. 
"  Then  I  will  come,  no  matter  what  there  is 
to  hinder.  Good  by." 

A  long  pressure  of  the  hand,  a  looking  into 
each  other's  eyes  in  the  starlight,  and  then 


80  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

Estelle  passed  swiftly  into  the  hotel,  leaving 
Dean  to  walk  rapidly  away,  his  footfalls  echo- 
ing distinctly  in  the  silent  street.  But  his 
swift  pace  soon  changed  to  a  slow  one.  He 
must  take  time  to  look  his  position  in  the 
face.  In  getting  rid  of  Tom  Ford,  he  had  de- 
prived himself  of  the  means  of  reentering  the 
house  without  arousing  the  family.  Then  how 
should  he  explain  to  Ford  the  reason  of  his 
failure  to  return  to  the  hotel  ?  Most  serious 
of  all,  what  should  he  say  if  Ford  had  seen 
him  with  Estelle  ? 

"  I  am  not  a  clever  scoundrel,"  Dean  told 
himself  with  a  bitter  smile.  "  I  think  I  am 
smarter  in  channels  where  brilliancy  of  ideas 
is  put  to  more  legitimate  use.  I  ought  to  be  a 
worse  man  or  a  better  one  to  get  any  measure 
of  content  out  of  life.  Perhaps  if " 

But  he  still  recoiled  in  horror  from  exposure. 
He  had  been  about  to  tell  himself  that  it  would 
be  perhaps  the  best  thing  that  could  happen  if 
it  turned  out  that  Tom  Ford  had  seen  him 
with  Estelle.  There  would  be  a  scene  with 
Louise,  a  quarrel,  all  barriers  of  self  respect 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  8 1 

would  be  broken  down,  and  he  left  free  to  be 
with  Estelle  as  much  as  he  pleased. 

Walking  slowly,  he  had  by  this  time  ar- 
rived in  front  of  the  Fords'  house.  He  was  on 
the  opposite  side  of  the  street,  and  glancing 
up  instinctively  at  the  window  of  the  room  to 
which  he  and  Louise  had  been  assigned,  he 
saw  her  there.  The  figure  disappeared  in- 
stantly, and  a  moment  later  the  front  door 
was  opened.  It  was  Louise.  She  had  been 
watching  for  him,  and  had  come  down  to  let 
him  in. 

"  I  was  so  anxious  about  you,  Gilbert,"  she 
murmured.  "  Tom  came  home  hours  ago,  and 
said  he  had  missed  you  in  some  way.  Where 
have  you  been  ?  " 

If  she  only  knew !  For  one  instant  Dean 
was  tempted  to  tell  her  ;  to  roll  off  the  burden 
of  deceit  that  was  weighing  him  down.  But 
why  do  this  now,  he  asked  himself?  He  was 
not  to  see  Estelle  again ;  the  knowledge  of 
the  truth  would  only  needlessly  embitter 
Louise's  life.  No,  it  was  better  to  let  her  igno- 
rance remain  bliss. 


82  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

"  Why,  did  not  Tom  tell  you,  little  girl  ?  " 
he  said.  "  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  man  I 
went  into  the  hotel  to  look  for,  and  he  insisted 
on  taking  me  out  to  supper.  I  told  him  about 
Tom  being  with  me,  and  we  went  back  to  get 
him,  too,  but  he  had  gone." 

How  glibly  the  falsehoods  slid  from  his 
tongue  now !  The  utterance  of  them  ap- 
peared to  give  him  no  concern  except  that 
which  was  occasioned  by  the  possibility  that 
they  were  not  clever  enough.  If  Tom  had 
seen  him  with  Estelle?  But  the  morrow's 
invention  could  look  after  that.  Meantime, 
the  sooner  he  got  away  from  Kansas  City  the 
better. 

"  Louise,"  he  said,  "  would  you  mind  start- 
ing for  home  tomorrow  ?  You  know  we  have 
lost  a  day  by  the  accident,  and  I  feel  that  I 
ought  to  get  back." 

"  I  am  eager  for  that  myself,  dear,"  she 
replied. 

And  so  it  was  settled  that  they  leave  on  an 
afternoon  train.  Dean  dared  not  allow  him- 
self to  think  of  Estelle.  He  knew  that  she 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  83 

was  right,  and  that  in  flight  lay  his  only 
safety.  He  expected  to  be  unhappy  away 
from  her,  but  Louise,  at  least,  would  be  left  in 
the  joyous  contentment  that  had  been  her  por- 
tion since  the  day  he  had  asked  her  to  be  his 
wife. 

Dean  chafed  a  little  under  Tom  Ford's  eye 
at  breakfast. 

"  A  pretty  trick  you  served  me  last  night, 
Gilbert,"  he  said  rallyingly,  after  his  morn- 
ing's greeting.  But  there  was  a  penetrating 
element  in  the  gaze  he  bent  on  his  guest. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  old  man,"  Dean  re- 
plied. "  It  was  a  shabby  fashion  in  which  to 
treat  one's  host,  but  then  when  I  caught  that 
glimpse  of  Holden  just  vanishing  through  the 
door  I  knew  I  should  have  to  make  a  bolt  for 
it,  or  lose  him  altogether.  We  came  back 
afterwards  to  look  you  up,  but  you  had  gone." 

"  Oh,  did  you?"  rejoined  Ford  dryly.  "Very 
good  of  you.  But  I'll  let  you  off  this  time, 
only  it's  too  bad  I  missed  that  supper." 

And  so  the  subject  was  dismissed  from 
everybody's  mind  with  a  laugh — from  every- 


84  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

body's  but  Dean's  own,  and  possibly  Tom's. 
Did  the  latter  know  more  than  he  thought  it 
for  his  guest's  best  interest  to  admit  ?  This 
was  the  problem  that  kept  Dean  in  unrest  all 
the  forenoon.  On  thinking  it  over,  he  did 
not  comprehend  how  Tom  could  well  have 
escaped  seeing  him  with  Estelle. 

He  breathed  a  deep  sigh  of  relief  when  he 
and  Louise  boarded  the  train  for  the  East  that 
afternoon.  Although  he  had  caught  Tom 
looking  at  him  in  a  peculiar  way  once  or 
twice,  nothing  more  was  said  about  the  night 
before.  He  and  Jessie  both  came  to  the  station 
to  see  them  off.  Louise  and  Jessie  had  said 
and  kissed  their  adieux ;  Dean  had  gone  to  the 
back  platform  to  give  a  final  hand  clasp  as  the 
train  moved  off.  Jessie  ran  forward  to  the 
window  in  response  to  a  sudden  call  from 
Louise.  This  left  Tom  and  Gilbert  alone. 
The  cars  began  to  move. 

"Good  by,  old  fellow,"  said  Ford.  "Next 
time  don't  call  the  friends  you  stop  in  at 
hotels  to  see  by  two  names." 

There  was  no  chance  for  Dean   to  reply, 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  85 

Jessie  had  run  back  to  join  her  husband  ;  both 
were  waving  their  hands  to  him  now.  Dean 
tried  to  smile  as  he  took  off  his  hat  in  ac- 
knowledgment, but  his  heart  failed  him  for 
fear. 

He  remembered  now  that  while  they  had 
been  looking  over  that  hotel  register  together, 
Tom  had  asked  his  friend's  name,  and  he  had 
answered  "  Green."  Then  the  next  morning 
he  had  called  him  Holden!  How  stupid  of 
him,  and  how  he  must  be  despised,  Dean 
thought !  He  knew  what  would  be  his 
opinion  of  Ford  had  he  caught  him  in  a  de- 
ception of  the  sort.  He  felt  he  was  not  wor- 
thy to  even  sit  beside  his  wife  when  he  went 
back  to  her.  How  long  would  she  permit  him 
to  do  this  ?  How  long  would  it  be — or  how 
short  a  time  perhaps — before  she  would  turn 
from  him  in  horror  as  though  there  were  con- 
tamination in  his  touch  ?  And  yet  he  had  com- 
mitted no  great  crime,  he  told  himself.  Surely 
he  exaggerated  the  importance  of  his  acts. 
Partially  justifying  himself  to  himself  in  this 
manner,  Dean  was  enabled  to  carry  his  head 


86  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

erect  and  to  deport  himself  in  the  dignified 
manner  that  befitted  his  standing  when  they 
arrived  again  at  Islington.  It  seemed  good  to 
him  to  get  back.  Here  were  the  props  to 
respectability  that  would  uphold  him  in  his 
determination  to  crush  down  the  desire  to  see 
Estelle  again. 


IX. 

TT  was  November.  Dean  and  his  wife  had 
been  back  in  Islington  several  weeks. 
Contrary  to  his  promise  to  Estelle  to  forget 
her,  he  had  thought  of  her  more  and  more 
from  day  to  day,  and  many  of  these  thoughts 
were  transmitted  to  her  through  the  mails. 
Letters  such  as  these  she  could  not  do  other- 
wise than  answer.  Her  resolution  that  day  on 
the  train  was  easily  spoken ;  it  was  not  so 
easily  kept.  Had  he  not  saved  her  life? 

As  for  Dean,  he  was  looking  forward  with 
eager  longing  to  seeing  her  when  the  company 
came  East.  "  When  shall  you  play  in  Albany  ?" 
he  wrote  her.  "  Wire  me  exact  date." 

He  thought  of  little  else  than  Estelle  now. 
According  to  her  last  letter  she  would  be  in 
Albany  some  time  in  the  following  week. 
"  This  is  Saturday,"  he  mused.  "  A  telegram 
should  reach  me  by  Monday  noon." 
87 


88  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

Dean  went  to  church  with  his  wife  on  Sun- 
day, but  the  words  of  the  preacher  did  not 
penetrate  his  ears.  In  his  Sunday  paper  he 
had  seen  that  the  "  Borrowed  Plumes  "  com- 
pany would  play  in  Albany  on  Tuesday  night. 

All  day  Monday  he  waited  anxiously  for  a 
telegram  from  Estelle.  None  came.  He  was 
nervous,  distraught,  irritable.  Could  it  be 
that  she  did  not  wish  to  see  him  ?  And  after 
the  letters  she  had  written  him  ! 

"  She  must  see  me,"  he  resolved.  "  I  will 
go  to  Albany,  any  way."  He  went  home  to 
his  wife  with  deception  on  his  lips.  His  kiss 
was  not  the  less  sweet  to  her. 

"Dear,"  he  began,  putting  his  arm  around 
her  as  he  walked  with  her  towards  the  win- 
dow, "  I  must  go  over  to  Albany  tomorrow." 

"  Oh,  Gilbert  !  " 

"  I'm  sorry,"  he  went  on  quickly,  looking 
intently  across  the  street.  "  I'm  sorry,  but  I 
have  just  learned  that  Illford  is  to  be  there. 
He  has  a  bill  before  the  Legislature,  and  wants 
my  influence.  I  cannot  deny  him  the  favor." 

All  Tuesday  forenoon  he  still  looked  for  a 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  89 

telegram,  but  in  vain.  At  times  he  was  indig- 
nant, and  wavered  in  his  determination,  but 
each  flash  of  indignation  was  succeeded  by  a 
longing  to  see  Estelle  which  there  was  no 
denying,  and  at  one  o'clock  he  was  off. 
Louise's  eyes  followed  him  wistfully  as  he 
walked  down  the  street.  "  I  wish  I  had  gone 
to  Albany  with  him,"  she  said  to  herself.  "  I 
wonder  why  I  didn't  think  of  it  in  time.  I 
wonder  why  Gilbert  didn't  suggest  it." 

Towards  night  Louise  was  at  the  window 
again,  and  in  her  reverie  she  could  see  Gilbert 
as  distinctly  as  she  had  seen  him  a  few  hours 
before  on  his  way  to  the  station.  "  There  is 
not  another  man  in  Islington,"  she  reflected, 
"with  such  a  figure,  and  he  is  handsome — 
handsomer  than  any  other  man  in  town.  I 
remember  the  day  I  saw  him  first.  And  it 
was  all  so  unexpected.  Suppose  I  had  never 
met  him  !  "  and  she  sighed  deeply. 

As  she  stood  there,  thinking  in  this  wise,  a 
cab  drove  up  to  the  Uptons',  across  the  way. 
She  watched  as  the  coachman  got  down  from 
his  box  and  helped  the  occupant  into  the 


90  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

house.  John  Upton's  failing  was  known  pretty 
generally  in  Islington  by  this  time. 

"  Poor  Mary,"  murmured  Louise,  as  she 
drew  the  blind,  and  turned  on  the  electric 
light.  "  What  if  I  had  a  burden  like  hers  to 
carry  ! " 

She  was  startled  by  a  sharp  ring  at  her  own 
door  bell.  A  moment  later  the  maid  appeared. 

"A  telegram  for  the  master,  Mrs.  Dean,"  she 
said.  "  It  came  to  the  office,  and  Mr.  Clark 
opened  it,  Joe  says,  thinking  it  was  on  busi- 
ness. But  it  wasn't,  so  he  thought  he'd  better 
send  it  up  to  you,  ma'am." 

"  Very  well ;  thank  you,  Delia." 

Louise  took  the  envelope  with  its  jagged 
edge  showing  where  it  had  been  hurriedly  slit 
with  the  finger.  Her  heart  leaped  wildly  at 
the  first  mention  of  a  telegram,  fearing  it 
might  be  ill  news  of  Gilbert.  But  no ;  there  it 
was,  addressed  plainly,  "Gilbert  Dean,"  and 
she  was  so  relieved  that  for  an  instant  she 
forgot  to  draw  out  the  inclosure.  Then  she 
recalled  what  Delia  had  said  about  its  not 
being  on  business. 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  gr 

"In  that  case,"  she  concluded,  "it  must 
be  something  in  which  I  am  interested." 

She  hastily  threw  aside  the  envelope,  and 
read  these  words : 

Will  be  in  Albany  tonight.  E.  O. 

"  E.  O. "  Louise  repeated  the  letters  musingly. 
"Who  can  that  be?  Why,  I  can't  recall 
anybody  Gilbert  knows  whose  name  begins 
with  an  O.  'E.  O.'?"  She  closed  her  eyes 
for  an  instant  as  if  to  think  the  clearer,  but  the 
wrinkle  did  not  leave  her  brow. 

"  I  wonder  if  it  is  very  important,  if  I  ought 
to  wire  it  on  to  him.  But  then  he  did  not 
tell  me  where  he  was  going  to  stop."  This 
reflection  came  over  her  with  a  tinge  of  un- 
pleasantness in  it.  She  hated  to  think  that 
even  for  one  night  her  husband  was  beyond 
her  call. 

"  He  should  have  told  me  to  what  house  he 
was  going."  She  rested  her  elbow  on  the 
library  table,  on  which  the  Albany  Sunday 
paper  still  lay.  Mechanically  she  ran  her 
eye  down  the  list  of  hotels,  which  happened 
to  be  just  before  her.  Then  suddenly  a  name 


92  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

in  the  adjoining  column  caught  her  attention. 
It  was  under  the  head  of  "  Amusements,"  and 
was  the  announcement  that  "  Borrowed 
Plumes  "  would  be  played  in  Albany  Tuesday 
night.  This  was  Tuesday  night.  Her  glance 
shifted  to  the  telegram  again.  "  E.  O."  Es- 
telle  Osgood,  the  real  name  of  Marie  Myrwin, 
the  actress,  whom  Gilbert  had  afterwards  saved 
from  the  railroad  wreck !  But  why  should 
this  woman  send  a  telegram  to  him  ?  Louise 
put  the  despatch  down  and  pushed  it  away 
from  her.  She  gave  one  quick  glance  about 
the  room,  to  make  sure  she  was  alone.  Her 
thoughts  were  so  painfully  intense ;  it  seemed 
as  though,  were  any  one  present,  he  must  be 
able  to  read  them. 

Back  over  the  intervening  weeks  her  mind 
hurried,  to  the  period,  only  a  night  it  was, 
spent  in  that  Western  farmer's  home.  Surely 
there  had  been  no  opportunity  there  for 
Gilbert  to  become  so  well  acquainted  with  the 
actress.  Why,  she  even  recalled  chiding  him 
for  his  indifference  to  her,  he  had  behaved  so 
oddly  when  in  her  presence. 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  93 

But  suddenly  light  was  flashed  upon  the 
mystery  from  another  quarter — Miss  Myrwin's 
expression  when  told  that  it  was  Gilbert 
who  had  taken  her  from  the  wrecked  car. 
"  Did  he  save  me?  "  she  had  exclaimed,  and  an 
expression  of  Louise  knew  not  what  nature 
had  come  into  her  eyes.  She  understood 
now ;  it  was  rapture,  joy.  What  if  she  and 
Gilbert  had  known  each  other  before  ? 

And  that  night  at  the  theater  in  Beverley  ! 
The  note  Gilbert  had  received !  He  said  it 
was  from  a  man,  but  now,  as  Louise  looked 
back  upon  the  circumstance  in  the  light  of 
this  awful  suspicion,  it  seemed  unlikely  that 
a  man  would  send  a  note  merely  to  call  a 
friend  outside.  Why  could  he  not  come 
down  and  make  the  request  in  person  ?  And 
Gilbert  had  been  oddly  abstracted  on  his 
return.  Yes,  and  the  next  day  on  the  train  ! 

Proof  was  heaping  up  swiftly  now,  much 
too  swiftly.  Louise  clasped  both  hands  across 
her  eyes  as  if  to  shut  out  some  horrible  vision. 
But  this  only  made  her  see  more  clearly  the 
firmly  welded  links  in  the  chain  of  evidence 


94  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

that  was  bringing  her  to  despair.  She  recol- 
lected Gilbert's  restlessness  after  leaving  Bever- 
ley.  "  And  she  was  on  board  the  train,  and  he 
told  me  he  was  going  to  look  for  a  friend — a 
man.  So  Gilbert  lied  to  me,  and  this  is  just 
what  he  did  at  the  theater  !  "  And  she  buried 
her  face  in  her  hands. 

"  But  no,"  she  exclaimed,  raising  her  head 
suddenly.  "  No,  I  will  not  believe  it.  Gilbert 
has  never  deceived  me.  There  must  be  some 
explanation.  I  will  not  allow  myself  to  think 
about  it  any  more.  It  is  all  so  foolish." 

But  she  could  think  of  nothing  else.  She 
recalled  how  speedily  Gilbert  had  returned 
from  his  search  in  the  rear  of  the  train, 
and  then,  on  the  plea  of  smoking,  had  gone 
forward — "  into  the  smoking  compartment," 
he  had  said,  but  she  knew  now  it  must  have 
been  into  the  forward  coach,  where  this 
woman  was. 

"  And  he  is  in  Albany  with  her  now!"  she 
murmured.  She  remembered  his  excuse — a 
favor  for  Illford.  How  carefully  he  had  ex- 
plained it  all  to  her !  He  had  not  been  in  the 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  95 

habit  of  doing  this.  And  she  had  thought 
his  doing  so  in  the  present  instance  was  only 
a  new  evidence  of  the  depth  of  his  regard  for 
her !  To  his  other  sin  was  to  be  added  hypo- 
crisy. It  was  unbelievable — that  all  his  atten- 
tions to  her  during  the  past  few  weeks,  all  his 
caresses,  were  hollow,  mere  blinds  to  conceal 
his  defection ! 

"  God  of  mercy,"  she  murmured,  "  how  can 
I  bear  it  ?  What  must  I  do  ?" 

She  recalled  how  she  had  discovered  the 
actress' real  name — seeing  the  initials  E.  O.  on  a 
watch  which  the  Pullman  conductor  had  found 
and  brought  to  the  farm  house  in  search  of  an 
owner. 

"  I  am  Estelle  Osgood,"  she  had  explained 
in  identifying  her  property.  "Myrwin  is 
merely  my  stage  name." 

What  if  this  incident  had  never  happened, 
Louise  asked  herself  ?  Was  she  grateful  for  the 
enlightenment  it  was  afterwards  to  give  her  ? 
Would  ignorance  be  indeed  bliss  ? 

She  rose  and  began  to  pace  the  floor  ;  then, 
fearing  that  Delia  might  pass  and  see  her  thus 


96  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

strangely  occupied,  she  walked  to  the  window, 
and  running  up  the  shade,  pressed  her  burning 
forehead  against  the  cool  pane.  Upon  the 
other  side  of  the  glass  rain  had  begun  to  beat 
furiously ;  but  if  it  were  only  this  she  had  to 
face,  she  thought,  how  gladly  would  she  go 
through  it  unprotected,  in  exchange  for  the 
mental  anguish  that  was  now  her  portion  ! 

"And  it  was  but  a  moment  ago,"  she 
reflected,  as  her  glance  rested  on  the  house 
across  the  street,  "that  I  was  pitying  Mary 
Upton,  contrasting  her  lot  with  my  own  !  Her 
husband  at  least  is  sensible  of  his  weakness, 
and  makes  an  effort  to  master  it.  Mine — oh, 
heavens,  his  whole  existence  is  a  living  lie !" 

Her  strength  failed  her ;  she  sank  down  on 
a  chair,  misery  and  despair  taking  complete 
possession  of  her.  How  long  would  it  be  before 
others  pitied  her  as  she  had  pitied  Mary 
Upton  ?  People  would  stop  talking  when  she 
came  into  the  room  that  they  might  watch  her 
unhampered  ;  and  then,  when  she  had  passed 
out  again,  how  the  whispered  comments  would 
hurry  from  tongue  to  ear,  and  how  each  would 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  97 

gaze  after  her  compassionately,  and  wonder 
how  she  bore  it  at  all ! 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door. 

"  Oh ! "  Louise  started  up  with  a  little  scream. 
But  it  was  only  Delia,  come  to  announce  that 
dinner  was  served. 

Louise  went  down  and  made  a  brave  attempt 
to  eat.  The  servants  must  not  be  allowed  to 
suspect  that  anything  was  wrong.  But  it  was 
torture  to  feel  that  they  were  watching  her, 
and  as  soon  as  possible  she  returned  up  stairs 
and  shut  herself  in  the  library  again.  Per- 
haps she  need  not  keep  up  the  deception  long. 
The  whole  town  might  soon  be  aware  of  her 
husband's  baseness. 

She  glanced  at  the  clock  on  the  mantel. 
It  was  nearly  eight.  But  what  difference  did 
time  make  to  her  now?  What  had  she  to 
look  forward  to?  Gilbert's  return?  Up  to 
an  hour  ago  she  had  been  saying  to  herself, 
"  This  time  tomorrow  he  will  be  back."  Now 
his  being  with  her  would  be  torture  worse  than 
that  she  was  already  enduring.  She  would  know 
that  his  every  look,  his  every  word,  his  every 


98  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

movement,  in  so  far  as  they  related  to  herself, 
were  but  a  cruel  mockery. 

How  should  she  receive  him  ?  She  must 
outline  some  plan  of  action.  The  first  emotion 
of  humiliation,  of  mortification,  having  spent 
itself,  anger  began  to  obtrude.  Her  rights  as 
a  wife  had  been  trampled  on  ;  she  would  not 
submit  meekly.  She  would  put  him  on  the 
rack ;  would  make  him  account  to  her  for 
every  second  of  his  absence,  and  then,  when 
he  had  rolled  up  a  record  of  falsehoods  that 
would  rank  well  with  those  he  had  already 
told  her,  she  would  place  the  telegram  in  his 
hands,  and  tell  him  what  she  thought  of  him. 

What  would  he  say  then,  she  wondered  ? 
What  defense  would  he  make,  or  would  he 
attempt  none  ?  Suppose  he  threw  himself  upon 
her  mercy,  declared  that  he  had  been  weak, 
but  that  now,  seeing  the  enormity  of  his  offense, 
he  would  turn  from  it  and  be  the  loving  hus- 
band she  had  always  supposed  him  ?  Would 
she  forgive  him  then  ?  Could  she  ever  trust 
him  again?  Would  there  not  always  be  a 
suspicion  in  her  mind?  The  serpent  had 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  99 

entered  her  paradise.  Nothing  now  could  be 
as  it  had  been  ;  her  life  was  wrecked ;  her 
hopes,  her  ambitions,  her  pride — all  had  gone 
down  beneath  this  blow,  as  some  vessel  might 
be  going  down  even  now  before  the  pitiless 
storm  that  was  rattling  the  windows  and  roar- 
ing down  the  chimney.  But  she  must  live  on, 
nevertheless.  Each  day  of  her  unhappiness 
would  contain  as  many  hours  as  those  that 
went  to  make  up  her  honeymoon  ;  but  each 
would  seem  thrice  as  long. 

"  And  it  was  just  after  Gilbert  had  come 
back  from  talking  with  that  woman  on  the 
train,"  she  recollected  now,  with  a  shudder, 
"  that  I  told  him  it  seemed  to  me  our  honey- 
moon had  never  waned." 

But  she  must  not  think  of  the  past ;  there 
was  a  pang  in  every  remembrance  of  it.  How 
could  she  be  sure  that  Gilbert  had  ever  really 
loved  her  ?  She  was  conscious  that  outwardly 
she  was  not  as  attractive  as  many  women.  It 
was  this  fact,  perhaps,  that  caused  her  to  value 
her  husband's  affection  so  highly.  And  now 
that  affection  had  turned  to  ashes  in  her  grasp. 


100  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

There  was  a  tap  at  the  door,  and  Delia  ap- 
peared with  a  letter  the  postman  had  just 
brought.  Louise  took  it  listlessly.  There 
was  no  longer  zest  for  her  in  anything.  When 
the  maid  had  gone  she  walked  to  the  mirror 
over  the  mantel.  She  was  surprised  that  she  saw 
so  little  alteration  in  the  face  that  looked  back 
at  her.  "  But  it  will  come,"  she  murmured, 
"  and  people  will  talk  low  and  say,  '  Poor 
thing,  how  it  has  changed  her  ! '  " 

Then  she  glanced  down  at  the  superscrip- 
tion on  the  envelope.  "  From  Ethel,"  she 
murmured.  "  And  she  is  coming  here  to  visit 
next  week.  Shall  I  put  her  off?" 

She  returned  to  her  chair,  opened  the  letter 
and  began  to  read.  Presently  a  little  ejacula- 
tion escaped  her.  "  And  now,  my  dear 
cousin,"  the  letter  ran,  "  I  have  a  great  sur- 
prise for  you.  I  have  just  become  engaged. 
He  is  the  dearest  boy — Malcolm  Hunt.  I 
have  known  him  a  year,  but  I  feel  as  if  it  had 
been  forever.  I  am  sure  I  should  not  want  to 
go  away  just  now  if  I  was  not  coming  to  you. 
I  know  you  won't  think  me  silly  a  bit  when 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  IOI 

I  want  to  talk  him  all  the  time  to  you.  You 
and  Cousin  Gilbert  have  always  seemed  to  me 
different  from  other  married  people.  It  is 
just  as  if  you  weren't  married — I  mean,  just  as 
though  you  kept  on  being  lovers,  the  way  so 
many  other  people  don't,  after  they  are  hus- 
band and  wife." 

Louise  let  the  sheet  fall.  It  was  agony  to 
read  such  words  now.  Her  mind  went  back 
over  the  two  years  of  her  life  with  Gilbert. 
Had  they  been  truly  "  lovers  "  all  that  while, 
as  Ethel  said  ?  -che  knew  that  she  had.  And 
he — well,  he  had  never  spoken  an  unkind 
word  to  her,  and  if  he  had  not  been  as  free 
with  his  caresses  as  she  with  hers,  she  had  set 
this  down  to  his  less  demonstrative  nature. 

How  would  they  deport  themselves  in  the 
new  life,  which  would  begin  as  soon  as  he 
returned  ?  It  must  differ  from  the  old  ;  it 
would  be  impossible  for  things  to  be  as  they 
had  been.  Ethel  would  not  fail  to  notice  the 
change.  She  must  not  be  allowed  to  come. 
Louise  would  write  to  her,  in  the  morning, 
that — yes,  what  would  she  write  ?  She  could 


102  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

not  tell  an  untruth.  That  would  be  too  much 
Gilbert's  way.  She  caught  her  breath  quickly 
at  the  comparison.  But  it  was  too  true. 
Already  she  was  beginning  to  despise  him. 

She  finished  the  reading  of  the  letter,  and 
resolved  to  put  off  her  decision  till  the  morrow. 
Gilbert  would  be  back  then ;  she  would  talk 
it  over  with  him. 

The  keenest  pang  of  her  ordeal  shot  through 
her  as  she  realized  what  she  was  thinking. 
She  had  now  none  to  whom  to  go  for  counsel. 
Her  sole  companion  was  her  misery.  She 
went  to  her  room  and  hour  after  hour  lay 
upon  her  bed,  staring  at  the  ceiling,  at  one 
moment  trying  to  realize  the  full  extent  of  her 
loneliness  ;  at  another  seeking  to  deceive  her- 
self into  the  belief  that  this  trouble  had  not 
really  fallen  upon  her ;  that  it  was  only  part 
of  some  story  which  had  made  too  deep  an 
impression  on  her  mind. 

The  November  wind  took  up  the  rain  and 
whirled  it  in  fierce  gusts  against  the  windows. 
Louise  imagined  it  to  be  her  sorrow  beating 
her  down  to  the  earth.  Ah,  it  was  cruel,  to 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  103 

have  deceived  her  so  !  If  he  had  never  loved 
her,  why  had  he  come  to  her  at  all  with  a  pretense 
of  doing  so?  For  now  that  she  was  convinced 
of  his  infatuation  for  Estelle,  she  could  not 
believe,  she  did  not  wish  to  believe,  that  he 
had  ever  really  cared  for  her  ;  did  not  want  to 
feel  that  she  had  been  put  aside  for  this  woman, 
an  actress.  Oh,  it  was  too  much  !  It  was 
better  never  to  have  been  loved ;  better  to 
fancy  that  she  had  been  deceived  from  the 
first.  There  would  then  at  least  not  be  the 
humiliation  of  believing  he  had  grown  tired 
of  her. 

But  there  was  agony,  too,  in  this  other  con- 
viction, and  no  help  to  be  found  anywhere  ; 
and  the  morrow  to  be  dreaded,  and  yet  longed 
for,  as  there  was  no  hope  of  sleep  that  night 
for  such  as  she.  And  so,  whether  wished  for 
or  not,  day  dawned  and  brought  no  comfort  to 
this  wife  who  had  discovered  truth. 


X. 


A  LTHOUGH  the  sky  was  weeping,  and  the 
bare  branches  of  the  trees  lent  a  melan- 
choly tinge  to  the  November  landscape,  there 
was  sunshine  in  Dean's  heart  as  the  train  bore 
him  swiftly  toward  the  city  where  he  would 
see  Bstelle  again.  No  disturbing  thought  of 
Louise  rose  up  to  cloud  his  joyous  anticipa- 
tions. He  had  downed  his  conscience  for  the 
present  at  least.  There  would  be  time  enough 
for  a  reckoning  with  it  when  his  journey  could 
be  thought  of  only  retrospectively. 

The  train  reached  Albany  at  half  past  five, 
and  fifteen  minutes  later  Dean  was  eagerly 
poring  over  the  register  at  the  Mohawk.  His 
face  lighted  up  as  he  discovered  the  name 
"  Marie  Myrwin,"  and  in  another  instant  his 
card  was  on  its  way  to  her  room. 

Estelle  was  dressing  for  dinner  when  the 

boy  appeared  with  it.     She  shared  the  room 
104 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  105 

\vitli  Sophie  Waters,  the  soubrette.  Sophie 
was  out  of  humor  because  she  hadn't  received 
a  letter  which  she  expected  to  find  await- 
ing her.  Estelle  was  despondent.  This  was 
nothing  new  ;  but  tonight  she  was  feeling 
more  than  ordinarily  depressed.  She  was 
thinking  that  she  had  had  but  the  word  to 
say  and  the  man  who  filled  her  heart  would  have 
come  to  her,  would  perhaps  be  with  her  now. 
Albany  was  only  four  hours  distant  from  Isling- 
ton. The  company  would  probably  never  be 
any  closer  to  the  town  which  now,  to  her  eyes, 
stood  out  from  the  map  as  if  printed  in  letters 
of  a  different  color. 

"If  I  had  only  sent  the  despatch  sooner," 
she  was  thinking,  "  he  would  have  come.  But 
I  knew  this,  and  sent  it  purposely  too  late. 
It  was  right  for  me  to  do  so ;  his  wife  was 
very  kind  to  me,  but  oh,  heavens,  so  was  he. 
He  saved  my  life,  and  I  love  him,  I  love 
him!" 

It  was  at  this  point  the  boy  with  the  card 
knocked.  When  Estelle  opened  the  door  and 
learned  who  had  asked  for  her,  she  could  scarcely 


106  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

repress  a  little  cry  of  joy.  There  was  no 
thought  of  denying  him.  "  Tell  him  I  will  be 
down  at  once,"  she  told  the  boy. 

And  when  they  met  in  the  quiet  parlor  of 
this  quiet  house,  there  was  another  greeting 
such  as  a  husband  would  give  a  wife,  and  for 
a  while  each  forgot  that  the  joy  was  a  stolen 
one ;  or  if  they  remembered,  the  thought 
only  added  a  sweeter  taste  to  it.  Then  Es- 
telle  shook  her  finger  reprovingly  at  Dean. 

"  I  thought  I  told  you  that  you  were  not  to 
see  me  any  more,"  she  said ;  "  and  you 
promised." 

"  But  that  was  when  I  believed  you  were 
going  to  be  beyond  my  reach.  I  can't  starve 
my  heart  all  the  time.  One  look  into  your 
eyes,  one  touch  of  your  hand,  are  reward  for 
all  that  I  may  have  to  undergo  to  obtain 
them." 

"  Then  this  is  the  last.  We  shall  not  be  in 
Albany  again." 

"  Yes,  the  last,  Estelle,  if  you  will  be  very 
good  to  me  this  time.  So  you  see  it  depends 
on  yourself.  Now  will  you  come  out  to  dinner 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  107 

with  me,  and  then  let  me  take  you  to  the 
theater  ?" 

"  On  those  conditions,  yes,  Gilbert." 

She  was  soon  ready,  and  they  were  out  in 
the  rain  soaked  street.  But  the  elements 
counted  for  little  with  these  two.  For  each, 
just  now,  nothing  existed  but  the  other.  Each 
saw  the  love  light  in  the  other's  eyes  as  they 
sat  at  the  table  in  the  cozy  corner  of  the 
restaurant,  and  each  resolutely  put  away  all 
thoughts  of  the  morrow.  When  they  were  in 
the  cab  on  the  way  to  the  theater  Dean  said 
suddenly,  "  Tell  me  something,  Estelle.  You 
say  you  did  not  know  I  was  married  when 
you  sent  for  me  that  night  in  Beverley.  What 
if — what  if  I  had  not  been,  and  I  had  asked 
you  to  be  my  wife,  what  would  you  have  said? " 

"My  heart  would  have  said  yes,  dear,  but 
my  sense  of  duty  no.  I  am  no  longer  in  the 
circle  to  which  once  we  both  belonged.  I  am 
a  woman  of  the  stage.  It  would  only  drag 
you  down  to  marry  me  ;  it  is  dragging  you 
down  to  be  with  me  now." 

"You   must    not    talk   that   way,    Estelle. 


£08  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

There  is  no  purer  being  on  earth  than  you. 
I  could  do  anything,  be  anything,  that  you 
bade,  and  doing  it,  being  it,  be  the  better  man, 
for  you  would  not  demand  that  which  was 
not  right.  If  I  were  only  free " 

"  Don't,  Gilbert ;  now  it  is  my  turn  to  beg 
you  not  to  speak  in  that  way.  You  are  not 
free ;  your  duty  is  to  your  wife,  who  was  once 
so  kind  to  me,  and  yet  from  whom,  Heaven 
forgive  me,  I  shrank,  because  she  was  that  to 
you  I  could  never  be." 

Dean  left  Estelle  at  the  stage  door,  then 
went  round  to  the  box  office  and  bought  a 
seat  for  himself  close  to  the  footlights. 

During  the  time  that  Estelle  was  on  the 
stage,  he  sat  there  entranced.  How  graceful 
were  all  her  movements,  how  soft  and  flexible 
her  voice,  and  in  her  beauty  she  was  peerless. 
His  heart  beat  fast  She  caught  his  eye  and 
smiled  at  him.  His  soul  was  on  fire.  When 
she  appeared  on  the  stage  again  a  little  later, 
she  had  a  love  scene  with  Harry  Vane,  and 
Dean  became  horribly  jealous.  It  seemed  to 
him  that  the  actor  held  Estelle  in  his  arms  a 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  109 

great  deal  longer  than  was  necessary,  and 
every  caress  was  a  dagger  thrust  to  Gilbert. 

When  the  play  was  over  he  met  Estelle  and 
took  her  to  supper.  They  lingered  at  the  table 
till  past  midnight,  and  Dean  wondered  how  he 
was  ever  going  to  endure  the  old  life  to  which 
he  must  return — the  life  that  was  a  lie. 

And  Estelle — she  looked  at  this  man  who 
she  knew  loved  her  with  all  his  heart,  whom 
she  loved  more  devotedly  than  ever  since  he 
had  risked  his  own  life  to  save  hers,  and  a 
fierce  rebellion  took  possession  of  her.  Why 
must  she  give  him  up?  He  really  belonged 
to  her.  No  other  woman  could  love  him  as 
she  loved  him,  and  was  not  love  like  hers 
stronger  than  marriage  vows  ?  Should  not 
this  attraction  of  heart  to  heart  be  kept  sacred 
and  held  in  deference?  It  was  against  nature 
that  Gilbert  Dean  should  belong  to  Louise 
Dartmouth  and  not  to  Estelle  Osgood.  Louise 
might  love  him  deeply,  but  did  he  love  her  ? 
No.  Then  there  was  no  reciprocity,  and  by 
every  prompting  of  humanity,  Estelle's  claim 
should  be  recognized. 


110  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

At  least  such  were  the  wild  arguments  that 
went  surging  through  the  actress'  brain  as  she 
began  counting  the  minutes  before  they  must 
part.  What  if  she  should  speak  some  of  them 
to  Dean  ?  Suppose  he  shared  her  views,  but 
had  hesitated  about  expressing  himself?  If 
he  offered  to  give  up  wife,  home,  his  brilliant 
future,  all  for  her,  would  she  have  the  strength 
to  resist,  as  she  had  told  him  a  few  hours 
before  that  duty  would  have  prompted  her  to 
resist  him  had  he  asked  her  to  be  his  wife 
that  night  in  Beverley? 

For  an  instant  she  gave  her  imagination 
the  reins,  and  saw  herself  and  Gilbert  flying 
from  duty,  from  the  right,  abandoned  to  love, 
with  no  other  thought  than  to  be  happy.  And 
would  they  be?  Ah,  no.  A  shiver  passed 
over  her.  Dean  noticed  it. 

"  What  is  it,  Estelle  ?"  he  asked  anxiously, 
tenderly. 

"  I  was  only  thinking — thinking  how  wrong 
it  is  for  you  to  be  here,  how  wrong  in  me  to 
have  let  you  come." 

"  But  you  didn't  let  me  come,"  he  answered, 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  Ill 

with  a  smile.  "  I  came  on  the  mere  chance 
that  I  would  find  you  here.  Call  it  chance 
that  I  came." 

"  I  can't,  Gilbert.  I  was  weak.  I  might 
have  telegraphed  sooner  and  told  you — well, 
told  you  we  were  not  to  play  here.  A  written 
lie  would  have  been  better  than  the  acted  one 
you  have  been  living  tonight." 

"  Telegraphed  sooner,  Estelle  !  "  he  replied. 
"  What  did  you  mean  by  that  ?  You  did  not 
telegraph  at  all." 

"  Ah,  but  I  did ;  sent  the  message  when  I 
knew  it  would  be  too  late  for  you  to  catch  the 
train  to  bring  you  here." 

A  wrinkle  creased  Dean's  forehead. 

"You  did  telegraph  me,  Estelle?"  he  ex- 
claimed. "  For  heaven's  sake,  what  did  you 
say  in  the  message?" 

"Why,  Gilbert,  did  I  do  anything  wrong? 
You  asked  me  to  wire  you  when  we  were  to 
play  in  Albany." 

"  But  I  did  not  suppose  any  such  message 
would  come  after  I  had  left.  Quick,  what 
did  you  say?" 


112  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

"  Let  me  think.  Oh,  my  dear,  I  hope  I 
have  not  been  the  means  of  bringing  trouble 
to  you  ! " 

"  No,  it  is  probably  all  right."  Dean  caught 
his  breath  quickly  between  each  word.  "  Only 
tell  me  just  what  you  said,  if  you  can  re- 
member." 

"  I  think  it  was  this  :  '  Will  be  in  Albany 
tonight.' " 

"And  what  did  you  sign  it?  " 

Dean  leaned  forward  eagerly  for  the  answer. 

"Why,  just  simply  '  E.  O.'  But  you  look 
very  serious.  Was  it  wrong  ?  You  told  me 
to  telegraph,  you  know." 

"  You  sent  it  to  the  office,  did  you  not  ?  " 
said  Dean,  his  hand  trembling  slightly. 

"  Yes ;  just  where  I  have  addressed  the  let- 
ters," Estelle  replied.  "Tell  me,  do  you  think 
any  harm  has  come  of  it?  If  there  has " 

"Don't  worry,  Estelle."  But  his  face  was 
a  shade  whiter.  "It  is  probably  all  right. 
You  did  just  as  I  told  you,  any  way.  Do  not 
let  us  spoil  our  last  few  minutes  together  by 
being  anxious  over  mere  possibilities." 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  113 

But  the  shadow  did  not  lift  from  Estelle's 
face.  As  they  walked  back  to  the  hotel — for 
the  rain  had  ceased  at  midnight — she  kept 
continually  reverting  to  the  matter.  "  I  knew 
I  was  right,  Gilbert,"  she  said,  "  when  I  told 
you  that  day  on  the  train  that  you  ought  not 
to  see  me  again.  It  means  danger  for  both  of 
us.  You  will  let  me  know,  dear,  will  you  not, 
whether — whether  any  evil  has  befallen  by 
reason  of  that  despatch  ?" 

"  Surely  I  will,  little  one.  Don't  forget  to 
give  me  your  route  before  I  leave  you." 

"Only  till  Friday;  that  will  be  long 
enough  for  news  of  today  to  reach  me.  After 
that  you  must  not  write  again." 

Dean  did  not  plead ;  he  knew  that  Estelle 
would  relent. 

"  Tell  me  that  you  love  me,  dear,"  he  said 
instead;  "  that  you  will  think  of  me  every  day, 
and  won't  forget  your  promise  to  let  me  know 
if  you  are  in  trouble." 

They  were  near  the  hotel  now.  There  was 
no  one  else  in  the  street.  She  looked  up  into 
his  face  in  the  starlight. 


114  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

"  I  do  love  you  with  all  my  heart,  Gilbert ; 
love  you  too  well  to  permit  any  harm  to  come 
to  you  through  me." 

"  And  by  one  foolish  act  I  put  myself  be- 
yond such  love.  Oh,  Heaven  be  kind  to  me  ! " 
The  words  were  uttered  with  a  dramatic  effect 
liner  than  anything  Estelle  had  ever  played 
to  on  the  stage.  The  pathos  of  it  swept  away 
all  reserve.  She  put  out  her  hands  to  him. 
He  drew  her  into  his  arms,  and  the  kiss  she 
gave  him  was  as  manna  to  his  starving  soul. 

"  Why  must  I  not  see  her  again  ?  "  he  asked 
himself  after  he  had  gone  to  his  room.  "  If 
that  telegram  has  betrayed  me,  I  might  as  well 
be  betrayed  for  much  as  for  little." 

The  company  were  to  play  in  Newark  the 
next  day,  and  before  he  slept  Dean  wrote  this 
note  to  Estelle : 

I  shall  take  breakfast  with  you  at  eight.  I  have  de- 
cided to  accompany  you  as  far  as  Poughkeepsie.  I  can 
then  just  make  the  connections  that  will  get  me  back  in 
Islington  by  nine  in  the  evening. 

Estelle  rebuked  him  with  her  lips  when  he 
met  her  the  next  morning,  but  there  was  joy 
in  her  eyes.  He  took  a  chair  next  to  hers  in 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  115 

the  drawing  room  car,  and  once  more  they 
talked  of  the  old  days  in  Lakefield,  and  the 
morning  flew  by  on  the  wings  of  love.  Once 
Dean  heard  a  little  girl  across  the  aisle  whis- 
per, "  Mama,  don't  you  think  they  are  bride 
and  groom  ?  "  He  smiled  when  he  repeated 
this  to  Estelle,  but  she  looked  grave  as  she 
replied : 

"  What  if  she  knew  the  truth  ?  " 

When  Dean  left  her  at  Poughkeepsie,  he 
stood  on  the  platform  of  the  station  and  watched 
a  fluttering  handkerchief  at  one  of  the  car 
windows  of  the  New  York  train  till  she  who 
held  it  was  carried  beyond  his  vision.  Then 
he  heaved  a  great  sigh,  and  turned  his  face 
back  towards  Islington. 


XI. 

TF  the  night  had  seemed  long  to  Louise, 
the  day  succeeding  it  appeared  endless. 
And  yet,  when  she  thought  of  what  the  future 
might  have  in  store,  she  felt  that  she  ought 
to  cling  covetously  to  every  minute  of  the 
present,  fraught  with  anguish  as  it  was.  The 
sun  shone  brilliantly  after  the  storm,  and  the 
flood  of  light  that  poured  in  at  the  windows 
was  such  a  mockery  of  the  gloom  that  en- 
shrouded her  soul  that  she  wished  the  rain 
might  have  continued. 

She  had  an  engagement  at  eleven  to  go  to 
the  hospital  and  read  for  an  hour  to  a  patient 
whom  her  circle  of  King's  Daughters  had 
taken  in  charge.  It  was  a  woman  whose  husband 
had  left  her,  and  who  was  dying  of  a  broken 
heart.  Louise  pictured  her  own  friends  talk- 
ing afterwards  of  how  it  must  have  tried  her 

soul  to  minister  to  one  whose  trouble  was  so 
116 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  117 

closely  akin  to  her  own.  She  did  not  see  how 
she  could  go  today,  but  she  knew  it  was  her 
duty ;  and  only  duty  was  left  to  her  now. 

When  afternoon  came  she  shut  herself  in 
her  room  on  the  pretense  of  sleeping,  but  really 
to  think,  to  plan.  Should  she  tell  Gilbert  of 
her  discovery  ?  She  carried  that  telegram  in 
the  bosom  of  her  gown.  Yes,  she  must  tell 
him  of  it.  The  message  belonged  to  him  ; 
she  had  no  right  to  keep  it  after  he  arrived. 

Suppose  he  should  admit  his  guilt,  what 
must  then  be  her  course?  Her  inclination 
would  be  to  go  away  somewhere,  where  she 
would  never  see  him  again,  never  hear  his 
name ;  but  that  would  be  equivalent  to  pub- 
lishing his  disgrace  to  the  world,  providing  it 
were  not  known  already. 

What  if  this  were  the  case,  and  she  were  the 
last  instead  of  the  first  to  know  of  her  hus- 
band's defection?  Could  this  possibly  be — 
that  she  had  been  pitied  and  talked  about,  and 
blamed,  perhaps  ?  But  whether  this  were  so 
or  not,  where  could  she  go?  She  was  now 
living  in  the  home  that  had  been  hers  from  a 


118  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

child.  Her  parents  were  both  dead.  She  re- 
membered how  people  said,  when  her  father 
died,  what  a  fortunate  thing  it  was  she  had 
married  such  a  sterling  fellow  as  Gilbert 
Dean,  who  could  take  Mr.  Dartmouth's  place 
in  everything  that  went  to  the  management  of 
the  great  business  and  the  making  of  the  lux- 
urious home. 

There  was  Uncle  John  Peterson,  who  lived 
on  a  farm  over  in  Vermont.  She  would  see 
no  one  if  she  went  there,  and  he  was  true  as 
steel,  and  would  care  for  her  devotedly.  But 
what  would  life  be  worth  to  a  woman  of  her 
tastes  and  aspirations,  buried  away  from  all 
culture  and  social  contact  with  the  busy  world 
of  thought  and  action  ? 

No,  she  would  not  submit  to  being  driven 
out  from  that  which  was  really  her  own.  If 
any  one  was  to  go,  it  must  be  he,  who  had 
brought  this  shadow  upon  her  life.  She  had 
done  no  wrong  ;  he  was  guilty,  and  must  suffer. 
And  it  was  in  this  mood  that  she  passed  the  day. 

While  she  was  at  dinner  a  telegram  came 
from  Dean,  dated  in  Albany,  saying  he  would 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  1 19 

be  home  at  nine.  Louise  checked  the  sensa- 
tion of  joy  that  possessed  her  at  the  thought  of 
soon  seeing  him  again.  "  He  is  not  worthy  of 
my  respect  even,"  she  told  herself.  "  Why 
must  I  give  him  my  love  ?  He  has  made  me 
suffer.  Now  it  will  be  his  turn." 

As  nine  o'clock  drew  near,  a  feverish  excite- 
ment began  to  possess  her.  She  felt  her  cheeks 
to  be  burning.  She  tried  to  arrange  in  her 
mind  just  the  order  in  which  she  would  con- 
vict him  out  of  his  own  mouth.  She  would 
not  spare.  Why  should  she?  He  had  not 
spared  her.  That  he  meant  to  keep  her  in 
ignorance  of  his  offense  against  her,  counted 
for  nothing.  How  two  faced  he  had  been ! 
What  a  hypocrite  he  was !  No  wonder  he  had 
risked  his  life  to  rescue  this  woman,  this  act- 
ress !  And  she,  Louise,  had  called  him  brave 
for  doing  it,  and  had  tenderly  cared  for  the 
woman,  held  her  in  her  arms,  stroked  the  hair 
back  from  her  temples,  watched  beside  her 
bed  !  Oh,  it  was  monstrous  that  such  things 
could  be  ;  it  was  a  miracle  that  Gilbert  could 
look  her  in  the  face,  could  take 


120  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

Ah,  there  was  his  key  in  the  lock  now  !  Her 
first  impulse  was  not  to  go  to  meet  him,  as  she 
ordinarily  did.  But  that  would  awaken  sus- 
picion. She  did  not  wish  to  do  this ;  she  must 
show  more  diplomacy.  She  would  convince 
him  that  there  were  actresses  as  clever  as  those 
who  trod  the  boards  of  the  theater.  Then  she 
hurried  out  into  the  hall  and  flung  her  arms 
about  his  neck  with  all  her  old  time  fervor. 
She  wondered  a  little  that  she  did  not  shrink 
from  the  contact,  but  she  was  watching  herself 
closely. 

"  Did  you  get  my  telegram  ?"  he  asked,  as, 
with  his  arm  about  her  waist,  he  returned  with 
her  to  the  library,  where  his  easy  chair  was  ready 
for  him  in  front  of  the  burning  logs  in  the  grate. 

"Yes,  while  I  was  at  dinner.  It  was  so 
thoughtful  of  you  to  wire  me.  But  then,  that 
is  just  like  you,  Gilbert ;  always  thinking  to 
do  little  things  that  will  please  me."  She 
watched  to  note  if  he  would  flinch  on  hearing 
this,  but  not  a  muscle  quivered ;  at  least  not 
so  long  as  she  dared  look.  She  found  that 
she  could  not  entirely  trust  herself  yet. 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  121 

He  sank  into  his  chair  with  a  sigh  of  con- 
tent. "  How  good  it  is  to  be  at  home  again," 
he  murmured ;  and  putting  out  his  hand,  he 
drew  her  to  a  favorite  seat — on  an  ottoman 
beside  him,  where  she  could  rest  both  arms 
across  his  knee  and  look  up  into  his  face. 

"You  have  missed  me,  then,  Gilbert?"  she 
asked  softly. 

"  Of  course  I  have  missed  you,  little  one. 
You  want  me  to  tell  you  how  often  your  face 
kept  coming  between  me  and  those  prosy 
legislators  I  was  trying  to  move  in  Illford's 
behalf  ?  "  He  bent  down  and  kissed  her  again. 

"And  did  you  succeed?  Do  you  think 
you  will  get  the  bill  through?"  She  could 
scarcely  steady  her  voice  sufficiently  to 
frame  the  words.  She  was  thinking  of  the 
traitorous  embrace  she  had  just  received ;  of  the 
awful  string  of  falsehoods  she  had  now  opened 
the  way  for  him  to  tell. 

"  I  think  we  shall,"  he  replied,  without  an 
instant's  hesitation.  "I  put  in  some  good 
work  this  morning.  I  couldn't  do  as  much  as 
I  expected  last  night." 


122  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

"  What  did  you  do  with  yourself  last  even- 
ing, then  ?  Didn't  it  rain  in  Albany. 

"  Yes,  poured.  Illford  and  I  sat  in  the  lobby 
of  the  hotel,  smoking  and  swapping  stories  of 
frontier  life.  You  know  he  was  in  the  army 
once  ;  was  quartered  at  Fort  Niobrara.  He 
was  quite  surprised  to  hear  that  I  had  been  for 
six  months  on  a  Texan  ranch.  Do  you  re- 
member what  a  cowboy  guy  I  was  when  you 
first  saw  me  there,  Louise  ?  " 

"You  were  never  a  guy  in  my  eyes,  Gil- 
bert," she  replied  quickly.  She  forgot,  for  the 
instant,  the  hated  task  she  had  set  herself. 
She  was  transported  in  memory  back  to  that 
night  when  her  heart  told  her  that  her  eyes 
were  looking  upon  a  man  she  could  easily 
love.  But  it  was  only  an  instant's  lapse ; 
sweeping  over  her  again  came  the  conscious- 
ness of  the  full  perfidy  of  her  husband,  who 
could  so  easily  pile  untruth  upon  untruth. 
She  must  test  him  still  further,  and  then 
reveal  what  she  knew. 

She  reached  out  one  hand  and  took  that 
Sunday  paper  from  the  table. 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  123 

"  So  you  stayed  at  the  hotel  all  the  even- 
ing," she  went  on,  glancing  with  apparent 
carelessness  up  and  down  the  columns.  "  I 
rather  thought  you  might  go  to  the  theater." 

"To  the  theater?"  he  replied,  in  well  af- 
fected surprise.  "  Why,  my  dear,  you  know 
that  you  care  more  for  that  sort  of  thing  than 
I  do." 

"  But  I  thought  the  attraction  in  this  in- 
stance," she  went  on,  with  a  tinge  of  sarcasm, 
"  would  be  too  strong  for  you  to  resist.  The 
'  Borrowed  Plumes  '  company  was  playing  in 
Albany  last  night.  Surely  you  have  not  for- 
gotten Estelle  Osgood  ?  "  She  held  the  paper 
up  for  him  to  see,  with  her  finger  on  the 
announcement.  But  her  eyes  were  fixed  on 
his  face. 

There  was  only  surprise  in  his.  "  Why,  is 
that  so  ?  "  he  exclaimed,  taking  the  paper.  "  It 
is  too  bad  I  did  not  know  of  it.  I  might  have 
taken  Illford.  I  could  have  told  him  the 
story  of  that  experience  of  ours  with  the  lead- 
ing woman,  and  he  would  have  been  doubly 
interested." 


124  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

Louise's  lip  was  trembling  by  this  time. 
What  an  accomplished  liar  her  husband  was  ! 
She  inserted  one  hand  in  her  corsage  and  drew 
out  the  telegram.  "  If  this  had  not  come  too 
late,"  she  said,  rising  as  she  passed  it  over  to 
him,  "  you  would  have  had  no  excuse  for  not 
knowing." 

She  stepped  back  to  the  mantelpiece,  rested 
one  elbow  upon  it,  and  watched  him  as  he 
read  the  despatch.  It  seemed  but  an  instant 
that  he  glanced  at  it,  then  he  had  crushed  it 
together  in  his  hand,  and  had  come  over  to 
stand  in  front  of  her. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Louise  ?  "  he  asked. 
There  was  no  terror  in  his  tones,  no  sign  of 
nervousness  even.  "  What  has  this  telegram 
to  do  with  Miss  Osgood  ?  " 

"  Everything,  as  it  is  from  her.  No,  don't 
speak.  You  already  have  enough  to  answer 
for,  and  now  that  I  have  found  you  out,  you 
need  no  longer  wear  the  mask.  So  you  went 
to  Albany  to  oblige  Mr.  Illford,  and  stayed 
with  him  at  the  hotel  all  the  evening,  smok- 
ing and  telling  stories  !  And  I — I  was  sitting 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  125 

here  alone  with  that  message  before  me,  its 
every  word  burning  into  my  soul  the  convic- 
tion of  your  treachery.  I  would  not  believe  it 
at  first,  but  with  the  proof  in  my  hand,  oh, 
merciful  Heaven,  what  else  could  I  do  ?  " 

She  felt  that  her  voice  was  breaking ;  that 
tears  of  anguish  were  forcing  themselves  to 
her  eyes,  which  she  had  hoped,  instead,  to 
make  blaze  with  indignation.  She  turned 
away  and  bowed  her  head  upon  the  mantel. 
She  figured  herself  remembering  this  culmi- 
nating moment  in  her  life's  history  to  her 
dying  day :  the  moment  when  Gilbert  knew 
that  she  knew  his  deception. 

"  And  on  such  slight  evidence  as  this  you 
believe  so  much  ill  of  me."  He  was  speaking 
softly  into  her  ear;  she  could  just  feel  his  arm 
as  he  passed  it  lightly  around  her. 

She  faced  him  quickly.  "  Prove  that  I  was 
wrong,"  she  entreated.  "But  you  cannot,  you 
cannot.  Those  were  her  initials  ;  you  knew 
her  before  that  accident,  I  am  sure  you  did ; 
and  you  went  to  Albany  expressly  to  meet  her. 
How  could  you  so  deceive  me?" 


126  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

"  You  have  jumped  at  conclusions,  woman 
like,  Louise."  Dean's  voice  was  as  firm  as  it 
had  ever  been  in  his  life.  It  was  one  of  the 
times  when  it  had  to  be  firm.  "  Listen  :  this 
message  is  from  Illford.  He  told  me  he  had 
sent  it,  thinking  he  had  not  made  it  quite 
plain  in  his  letter  just  when  he  would  be  in 
Albany,  as  he  had  two  dates  under  consider- 
ation." 

"  But  how  could  it  be  from  Mr.  Illford  ?  " 
Louise  interposed.  "  His  initials  are  not  E.  O." 

"  No,  but  they  are  E.  I. — Eugene  Illford. 
The  mistake  is  easily  accounted  for.  In  te- 
legraphy two  dots  stand  for  both  letters,  but 
there  is  a  little  longer  space  between  them  in 
the  O  than  in  the  I.  The  operator  simply  did 
not  pay  close  enough  attention,  and  got  them 
mixed.  Why,  my  dear  little  girl,  you  don't 
know  how  it  pains  me  to  have  you  think  such 
monstrous  things  of  me.  Besides,  consider 
how  absurd  your  supposition  was.  When  did 
this  telegram  arrive  ?  " 

"  It  was  sent  up  here  from  the  office  about 
half  past  five  yesterday  afternoon." 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  127 

"  Well,  then,  granting  it  was  from  Miss 
Osgood,  of  what  use  would  it  have  been  to 
me,  as  I  could  not  possibly  get  to  Albany  that 
night,  and  the  company,  as  you  can  see  for 
yourself  by  the  paper,  play  there  for  that  date 
only." 

"  But  the  same  reason  would  show  that 
the  despatch  was  not  sent  by  Mr.  Illford," 
Louise  responded. 

"  With  this  difference,"  Dean  answered  at 
once  ;  "  that  he  expected  to  stop  over  today  as 
he  did,  and  only  sent  this  message  as  an  extra 
measure  of  precaution,  to  insure  my  being 
there  some  time  during  his  stay.  Are  you 
satisfied  now,  little  one?" 

Louise  threw  her  head  back  and  looked  up 
into  his  face.  How  she  longed  to  believe  him, 
to  trust  him  !  And  why  should  she  not  ?  Was 
not  his  story  a  reasonable  one?  As  she 
regarded  it  now,  with  this  new  light  cast  upon 
it,  the  light  of  love,  how  flimsy  a  structure 
seemed  that  fabric  of  deceit  she  had  brought 
herself  to  look  upon  as  her  husband's  work ! 
Placed  beneath  the  rays  of  this  powerful  illumi- 


128  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

nant,  even  that  episode  in  the  farm  house 
dwindled  into  insignificance.  There  were  a 
hundred  ways  of  accounting  for  that  woman's 
strange  words  on  being  told  who  had  been  her 
rescuer  other  than  the  one  her  suspicions  had 
caused  her  to  hit  upon.  And  as  for  the  inci- 
dent in  the  theater  at  Beverley,  and  on  the 
train,  why,  the  sting  she  had  found  in  these 
was  altogether  of  her  own  making.  Was  not 
she  the  unworthy  one?  Their  eyes  met ; 
his  did  not  waver.  "  Gilbert,  my  husband, 
forgive  me!"  she  cried,  throwing  her  arms 
about  his  neck. 

She  clung  there,  weeping  convulsively. 
How  cruelly  she  had  wronged  him  !  She  did 
not  deserve  such  generous  treatment  at  his 
hands. 

"  I  am  not  worthy  of  you,  Gilbert,"  she 
sobbed. 

Louise  was  radiantly  happy  now,  so  happy, 
indeed,  that  presently  she  began  to  make  light 
of  her  misery. 

"  Why,  I  even  envied  poor  Mrs.  Upton,"  she 
said.  "  And  I  was  wondering  where  I  should 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  129 

go  if  it  came  to  my  leaving  you.  But  it  was 
very  lucky  the  occasion  didn't  arise,  because 
I  knew  I  should  be  miserable  in  any  place 
without  you.  And  once  I  actually  caught 
myself  planning  to  wait  and  ask  your  advice. 
Fancy  that,  when  I  imagined  that  you  had 
gone  off  and  left  me !  Wasn't  it  absurd  ?  " 
And  Louise  laughed,  and  Dean  laughed  with 
her,  and  then  she  became  almost  hysterical  as 
she  recalled  how  confidently  she  had  expected 
never  to  see  his  lips  part  in  a  smile  for  her 
again. 

"This  is  the  happiest  day  of  my  life, 
dear,"  she  said  to  him  as  they  went  up  stairs 
together. 

"  And  of  mine,"  he  whispered  back.  And 
he  wondered  why  a  bolt  from  heaven  did  not 
strike  him  dead  for  the  lie ;  and  when  Louise 
had  gone  to  her  dressing  room  he  stood  for  a 
moment  at  the  window,  looking  up  at  the  stars, 
and  doubting  if  they  shone  down  on  a  more 
wretched  man  in  all  the  world. 


XII. 

'"PHE  days  following  Gilbert's  return  from 
Albany  were  joyous  ones  to  Louise. 
Despising  herself  for  her  unjust  suspicions,  she 
was  constantly  discovering  new  evidences  of 
her  husband's  affection.  For  Dean  was  care- 
ful now  to  be  liberal  in  bestowing  these.  But 
in  spite  of  that  one  night's  contrition,  his 
heart  was  still  in  Estelle's  keeping.  He  had 
written  to  her  the  next  morning,  telling  her 
not  to  distress  herself  about  that  telegram,  for 
no  harm  had  resulted.  And  she  had  replied, 
and  thus  the  correspondence  went  on  as  briskly 
as  before. 

These  letters  from  Dean  were  Estelle's 
most  valued  treasures.  She  looked  upon  them 
as  the  last  link  connecting  her  with  the  old 
life,  that  life  where  women  were  always  re- 
spected, and  no  coarseness  of  speech  was  ever 
suffered  to  come  within  their  hearing.  Her 
130 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  131 

present  environment  had  been  sufficiently  irk- 
some before  that  night  when  the  company 
played  in  Beverley.  But  then  she  had  only 
become  weary  of  it  at  times ;  now  it  was  con- 
tinually hateful  to  her.  Yet  she  saw  no 
escape ;  she  was  absolutely  dependent  on  her 
salary,  every  penny  of  which  must  be  carefully 
guarded  lest  she  might  not  have  enough  to 
carry  her  through  the  long  summer  vacation. 
Relatives  she  had  none,  except  those  that  were 
poorer  than  herself,  and  they  had  cast  her  off 
since  she  had  gone  on  the  stage. 

Her  present  companions  were  friendly 
enough ;  too  friendly  at  times.  Harry  Vane's 
attentions  were  odious  to  her.  He  had  a  wife 
traveling  with  another  company.  Estelle's 
soul  sickened  within  her  when  she  was  driven 
to  remind  him  of  this  fact,  and  he  replied, 
"  Well,  my  dear,  I  accord  her  the  privilege  of 
consoling  herself  as  I  am  trying  to  do." 

Contrasted  with  men  such  as  these,  Gilbert 
Dean  seemed  godlike,  weak  as  Estelle  recog- 
nized him  to  be.  But  then  that  weakness  was 
betrayed  only  in  yielding  to  his  regard  for 


132  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

her ;  and  a  woman  can  easily  forgive  such  a 
failing  in  a  man.  His  love,  hopeless  as  she 
knew  it  to  be,  was  the  one  thing  that  now  made 
life  worth  living.  It  would  be  like  stilling 
her  very  heart  beats  to  put  it  out  of  her  soul, 
and  so  she  did  not  try.  Although  the  thought 
was  never  formulated  into  an  expectation,  she 
knew  that  some  time,  somewhere,  and  soon, 
she  would  see  Dean  again.  And  Dean  shared 
this  hope — or  rather  not  hope ;  with  him  it 
was  an  intention. 

So  the  winter  passed,  and  when  spring  came 
Estelle  wrote  that  early  in  May  the  company 
were  to  play  a  one  night  stand  in  Islington. 
The  local  opera  house  had  been  renovated, 
and  had  been  offered  on  such  favorable  terms 
to  manager  Roberts,  that  he  had  decided  to 
cancel  one  date  in  Syracuse.  Dean  scarcely 
knew  whether  he  was  more  rejoiced  or  dis- 
turbed to  receive  these  tidings.  To  know 
that  Estelle  would  be  in  the  same  town,  and 
to  be  unable  to  be  with  her,  would  be  unen- 
durable ;  and  yet,  here,  at  home,  how  could 
he  manage  it  without  betraying  himself  ?  But 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  133 

that  he  would  manage  it  by  some  means,  at 
whatever  risk,  he  knew  perfectly  well. 

As  the  day  drew  near,  a  feverish  impatience 
seized  him  ;  and  then,  on  the  very  morning 
when  the  "  Borrowed  Plumes  "  posters  were 
put  up  in  town,  Illford  appeared.  Dean  was 
out  when  he  called  at  the  office,  but  he  found 
his  card  on  his  return,  "  Sorry  to  miss  you. 
Will  be  busy  the  rest  of  the  day,  but  will  drop 
in  on  you  at  your  home  tonight." 

Dean  stood  staring  at  the  bit  of  pasteboard 
as  though  it  were  endowed  with  the  ability 
to  inflict  bodily  injury  on  him.  What  should 
he  do  ?  Louise  must  not  meet  this  man.  Oh, 
of  course  there  was  no  likelihood  that  she 
would.  How  absurd  to  be  so  fearful !  A  smile, 
but  a  faint  one,  curled  the  corner  of  his  mus- 
tache, as  he  crushed  the  card  together  and 
dropped  it  into  his  overcoat  pocket.  It  was 
not  necessary  that  Louise  should  meet  his 
business  friends  who  called  at  the  house  to  see 
him,  although,  to  be  sure  she  often  did.  It 
would  be  safer  to  send  Illford  word  not  to 
come ;  to  say  that  he  would  not  be  at  home. 


134  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

But  Dean  did  not  know  where  to  send  the 
message.  There  was  positively  no  way  of  com- 
municating with  the  man. 

"  Then  I  must  take  Louise  and  go  out  some- 
where tonight,"  Dean  decided,  and  he  began 
to  cast  about  in  his  mind  for  a  place  to  go. 
And  as  he  thought,  he  grew  calmer.  He 
remembered  how  skilfully  he  had  extricated 
himself  from  the  telegram  dilemma ;  surely 
his  wits  would  not  fail  him  now. 

"  Louise,"  he  said,  when  he  went  home  that 
night,  "  don't  you  want  to  go  around  with  me 
to  the  Nevilles'  this  evening  ?  "  And  she, 
delighted  to  go  anywhere  with  her  husband, 
gladly  acquiesced. 

"Let  us  start  early,  dear,"  he  added,  "so 
that  we  can  come  home  in  good  time."  He 
was  fearful  least  Illford  might  call  before  they 
got  off. 

He  had  his  hat  on,  and  was  holding  the 
front  door  open  for  his  wife  to  pass  out,  when 
she  exclaimed,  "  Oh,  Gilbert,  I  snatched  up 
my  gloves  so  hastily  that  they  are  both  for  the 
same  hand.  Please  go  get  the  right  one  for  me." 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  135 

"  How  very  stupid,"  he  muttered,  as  he 
hurried  off  to  do  her  bidding. 

Louise  looked  after  him  wonderingly.  It 
was  not  like  Gilbert  to  talk  in  this  way. 
There  was  a  step  on  the  graveled  driveway. 
An  instant  later  a  figure  appeared  at  the  door. 

"  Is  Mr.  Dean  at  home  ?  "  the  newcomer 
asked. 

It  was  a  man  whom  Louise  did  not  know — 
a  gentleman,  she  saw  at  a  glance. 

"  Yes,"  she  replied.  "  That  is,  we  were  just 
going  out.  Won't  you  walk  in  ?  My  husband 
will  be  down  stairs  in  a  moment." 

"  He  had  a  previous  engagement,  then.  I 
am  sorry,  but  I  will  wait  and  speak  to  him." 

"  Oh,  no,  it  was  no  regular  engagement," 
Louise  returned  pleasantly.  "  We  were  merely 
going  out  to  call  on  some  friends.  Gilbert — 
Mr.  Dean — suggested  it  while  we  were  at 
dinner." 

"  Then  he  could  not  have  received  my  card — 
but  here  he  is,  to  speak  for  himself,"  and  Ill- 
ford  walked  toward  the  stairway,  meeting 
Dean  at  the  foot  of  it. 


136  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

"Why,  my  dear  fellow,"  the  master  of  the 
house  exclaimed,  "  this  is  a  surprise.  When 
did  you  arrive  in  town  ?  " 

"  This  morning.  I  dropped  in  on  you  at 
your  office,  but  you  were  out,  so  I  scribbled  a 
message  on  a  card  and  left  it  on  your  desk. 
Did  you  not  see  it  ?  " 

"  Not  a  sign  of  it.  Must  have  blown  out  of 
the  window ;  things  sometimes  do.  What  did 
you  say  on  it  ?  But  come  on  up  to  the  library, 
and  we'll  have  a  smoke.  Louise,  you  will  ex- 
cuse me,  I  know." 

"  Certainly,  my  dear."  She  had  come  to 
the  stairway,  expecting  that  her  husband 
would  introduce  his  friend,  but  he  made  no 
motion  to  do  so,  and  the  two  went  off  up  stairs 
together. 

Louise  strolled  into  the  drawing  room,  and 
with  her  wraps  still  about  her  sat  there  for 
some  time,  thoughtfully  turning  her  wedding 
ring  round  and  round  upon  her  finger.  There 
had  been  something  strange  about  Gilbert 
ever  since  he  came  home  tonight.  She  re- 
called now  that  he  had  been  unwontedly  silent 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  137 

at  the  table  until  he  had  suddenly  proposed 
making  this  call  on  the  Nevilles,  which  was 
in  itself  an  odd  thing  for  him  to  do.  Then 
he  had  hurried  her  off,  was  cross  because  she 
had  brought  the  wrong  glove,  and  now  he  had 
been  almost  rude  in  not  introducing  her.  He 
must  have  heard  her  talking  with  his  caller 
as  he  came  down  stairs. 

"  I  think  I  will  give  him  a  little  scolding," 
she  decided,  "  after  his  friend  has  gone.  If  it 
is  a  business  worry,  he  ought  not  to  bring  it 
home  with  him,  or  else  he  should  tell  me  all 
about  it,  and  let  me  help  him  bear  it." 

She  rose,  and  started  to  go  up  to  her  own 
room,  to  lay  aside  her  things.  In  crossing  the 
hall  her  glance  chanced  to  fall  on  something 
white  lying  on  the  floor  just  outside  the  coat 
closet.  She  could  hear  a  low  murmur  of 
voices  in  the  library  up  stairs.  Gilbert  must 
have  closed  the  door,  for  no  odor  of  cigar 
smoke  came  down  to  her.  She  stooped  to  pick 
up  the  crumpled  card  and  toss  it  into  the  waste 
paper  basket,  when  penciled  writing  on  it 
caught  her  eye. 


138  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

"  It  is  something  Gilbert  has  dropped  from 
his  overcoat  pocket  in  taking  out  his  gloves," 
she  thought. 

She  smoothed  out  the  bit  of  pasteboard,  and 
read  these  words  :  "  Sorry  to  miss  you.  Will 
be  busy  the  rest  of  the  day,  but  will  call  on 
you  at  your  house  tonight." 

Louise  quickly  turned  the  card,  and  saw  the 
name — 


EUGENE 


She  was  not  prepared  for  this.  She  put  out 
her  hand  as  if  to  clutch  the  empty  air  for 
support,  and  then  sank  weakly  into  the  little 
cushioned  recess  that  made  a  cozy  seat  by  the 
fireplace.  In  swift  panorama  all  her  hus- 
band's strange  actions  of  the  evening  mar- 
shaled themselves  before  her  mental  vision. 
Each  one  pointed  to  the  same  conclusion  :  he 
did  not  wish  her  to  see  this  man,  the  man  to 
meet  whom  he  had  told  her  he  had  gone  to 
Albany  last  fall. 

And  that  woman,  that  actress,  was  coming 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  139 

to  Islington.  Louise  recalled  noticing  the 
posters  of  the  play  around  the  streets  that  very 
afternoon.  This  man  Illford  doubtless  knew 
just  what  Gilbert  had  done  on  that  trip  to 
Albany.  Merciful  heavens,  must  that  fearful 
chapter  in  her  wifehood  be  lived  over  again  ? 
Had  her  husband  added  a  new  series  of  hypoc- 
risies to  his  yet  deeper  crime,  and  were  all  the 
tokens  of  affections  he  had  lavished  upon 
her  since  that  memorable  November  night,  but 
so  many  blinds  to  cover  up  his  perfidy  ? 

The  first  sharp  pang  passed,  Louise  began 
to  shape  her  course  of  action.  She  could  do 
this  with  more  coolness  than  on  that  previous 
occasion.  Then,  the  horror  of  it  all  was  too 
fresh  to  permit  her  to  think  with  any  degree 
of  coolness.  Now,  although  her  heart  was  bleed- 
ing, she  compelled  her  head  to  assume  control. 

Retaining  the  card,  she  went  up  to  her  own 
room,  and  sat  there,  with  her  wraps  on,  till 
she  heard  her  husband's  visitor  depart.  Then 
she  came  out  and  met  Gilbert  on  the  stairs. 
"  Is  it  too  late  to  go  to  the  Nevilles'  now,  my 
dear  ?  "  she  asked. 


140  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

She  noted  that  Gilbert  was  nervous;  she 
could  detect  that  he  was  watching  her,  seeking 
to  try  to  inform  himself  whether  any  suspicion 
had  been  awakened  in  her  mind. 

"  Yes,  I  am  afraid  it  is  too  late,  my  love," 
he  answered  her,  looking  at  his  watch.  "That 
bore  of  a  Brooks  would  stay  on.  He  is  always 
making  his  appearance  at  the  wrong  times, 
and  never  going  at  the  right  ones." 

Louise's  heart  had  given  a  quick  bound 
when  Gilbert  mentioned  his  friend  as  Brooks. 
Perhaps  she  was  mistaken  after  all,  and  that 
card  of  Illford's  had  no  connection  with  the 
man  who  had  called.  But  she  would  keep  it 
and  find  out,  if  she  had  to  go  down  to  the 
office  and  question  the  clerks  as  to  the  appear- 
ance of  the  man  who  had  left  it 

"  I  thought  it  a  little  odd  you  didn't  intro- 
duce him,  Gilbert,"  was  all  she  said  now. 
"  You  must  have  heard  me  talking  to  him." 

"  He  is  not  the  man  I  would  want  my  wife 
to  know,  Louise,"  was  Dean's  reply.  She  was 
looking  steadily  at  him,  and  noted  the  telltale 
flush  that  dyed  his  cheeks. 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  141 

Before  they  retired  that  night,  Gilbert 
announced  that  he  must  breakfast  early  and 
drive  on  business  to  Raymond  Falls. 

"  Perhaps  I  will  show  him  that  card  to- 
night," Louise  said  to  herself  the  next  morn- 
ing, as  she  stood  on  the  piazza  for  a  moment 
after  she  had  bidden  him  good  by. 

At  this  instant  a  figure  turned  in  at  the  gate- 
way, and  Louise  beheld  the  caller  of  the  night 
previous  advancing  up  the  drive.  Her  heart 
began  to  beat  faster  as  she  reaHzed  the  oppor- 
tunity for  undisturbed  investigation  that  was 
now  presented  to  her.  She  moved  toward  the 
steps  to  meet  this  early  morning  visitor. 

He  raised  his  hat  as  he  came  up.  "  Is  Mr. 
Dean  at  home  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  No,"  answered  Louise.  "  My  husband 
has  just  started  on  a  drive  to  Raymond  Falls." 

"  I  am  sorry  to  miss  him.  I  thought  I  would 
catch  him  before  he  went  to  his  office." 

u  You  can  find  him  there  later  in  the  day. 
He  will  be  back  by  ten." 

"  But  I  leave  town  on  the  eight  thirty  train. 
I  am  Mr.  Illford." 


142  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

"  Oh  ! "  The  exclamation  uttered  by  Louise 
was  almost  a  gasp. 

"  I  wished  to  see  Mr.  Dean  for  a  few  minutes 
about  a  matter  I  forgot  to  speak  of  last  night." 

Louise  was  greatly  excited,  but  she  exerted 
all  her  self  control  and  remained  outwardly 
calm.  "  Won't  you  walk  up  and  take  a  seat, 
Mr.  Illford  ?  "  she  said.  "  It  is  not  yet  time 
for  your  train." 

"  Thank  you  ;  "  and  he  followed  her  to  a 
shaded  corner  of  the  piazza. 

"  Perhaps  you  would  like  to  leave  a  mes- 
sage with  me,"  she  added,  as  they  seated  them- 
selves. "  I  have  often  heard  my  husband 
speak  of  you,  Mr.  Illford." 

u  yes?" 

"  It  was  you  he  went  to  meet  in  Albany  last 
November,  I  believe — one  of  the  very  few  trips 
he  has  ever  taken  without  me." 

"  Meet  me  in  Albany  ?  "  exclaimed  Illford, 
in  perplexity. 

"  Why,  yes  ;  don't  you  remember  the  occa- 
sion? It  had  something  to  do  with  a  bill  of 
yours  before  the  Legislature." 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  143 

"  A  bill  of  mine  before  the  Legislature  ?  " 
Illford  repeated,  still  puzzled. 

"  Perhaps  it  wasn't  called  a  bill,  then." 
Louise  forced  a  little  laugh.  "  You  know  we 
women  are  always  stupid  where  anything  con- 
nected with  politics  is  concerned,  except  when 
we  are  strong  minded.  At  any  rate,  you  and 
he  were  there  together,  on  some  affair  of  im- 
portance." 

"  But  really  you  mystify  me,  Mrs.  Dean. 
I  have  never  had  anything  to  do  with  legis- 
lative business,  and  I  have  not  been  to  Albany 
in  two  years.  You  must  be  confusing  me  with 
some  other  friend  of  your  husband." 

"  Possibly  I  am."  Louise  wondered  how 
she  possessed  the  strength  to  frame  the  words. 
The  world  appeared  to  be  reeling  away  from 
her.  Her  worst  suspicions  were  confirmed. 
Gilbert  had  lied  to  her.  But  she  must  not 
give  way  now.  "  You  said  something  about 
a  message,"  she  went  on,  oblivious  of  the  fact 
that  it  was  she  herself  who  had  spoken  of 
this.  "  Won't  you  leave  it  with  me  ?  That  is,  if 
it  is  not  of  too  abstruse  a  business  character." 


144  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

Illford  thought  he  had  never  seen  a  sadder 
smile  on  a  human  face.  He  recalled  this  fact 
vividly  afterwards. 

"  Oh,  I  need  not  trouble  you  with  one,  Mrs. 
Dean,"  he  replied.  "  I  can  write  after  I  reach 
home.  And  now  I  must  be  going,  or  I  shall 
miss  my  train.  Good  morning.  Say  to  Mr. 
Dean  that  I  am  very  sorry  I  missed  him." 

Louise  rose  as  her  caller  passed  her  on  his 
way  to  the  steps.  She  placed  one  hand  firmly 
against  a  pillar  of  the  porch,  and  leaned 
heavily  against  it. 

"Good  morning,  Mr.  Illford,"  she  forced 
herself  to  say.  "  I  will  tell  my  husband  you 
were  here."  Then,  as  her  caller's  back  was 
turned,  she  set  her  lips  tightly  together,  and  a 
firm  resolve  entered  her  soul. 


XIII. 

TT  was  late  in  the  afternoon  of  the  same 
day.  The  Dean  carriage  stood  before  the 
gate,  and,  card  case  in  hand,  Louise  came 
forth  and  entered  it.  "  Drive  down  to  the 
Tremley  House,  David,"  she  said  to  the 
coachman. 

The  faithful  old  Scotchman  was  rather  sur- 
prised at  this  order.  His  mistress  was  not  in 
the  habit  of  calling  at  this  hotel,  the  principal 
one  in  the  town  though  it  was.  He  was  more 
amazed  than  ever,  however,  when,  after  a  brief 
halt  at  the  Tremley,  Mrs.  Dean  returned  to 
the  carriage  with  the  order,  "  Drive  around  to 
the  Forest  King." 

This  was  the  other  hotel  in  the  town,  of  not 
quite  such  high  standing  as  the  Tremley, 
much  frequented  by  commercial  travelers,  and 
the  few  theatrical  companies  that  took  in 
Islington  on  their  routes. 
145 


146  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

"  The  missus  must  be  on  a  quare  charity 
errand  this  day,  and  no  mistake,"  David  solilo- 
quized, as  he  drew  up  before  the  ladies'  en- 
trance to  the  rather  dingy  hostelry  with  the 
pretentious  name. 

There  was  no  attendant  at  the  side  door,  and 
Louise  was  obliged  to  wait  until  the  clerk  in 
the  office  caught  a  glimpse  of  her,  and  sent  a 
shambling  bell  boy  to  learn  her  wishes. 

"  Is  Miss  Myrwin  stopping  here  ?  " 

"  Do  you  mean  the  actress  lady  ?"  asked  the 
bell  boy. 

"  Yes,"  said  Louise.  "  Will  you  take  up  this 
card  to  her?" 

The  boy  took  the  card  and  went  off  with  it. 
Louise  found  the  door  of  the  reception  room, 
and  sank  down  on  the  sofa.  But  her  lips  were 
firmly  set  still ;  she  had  made  up  her  mind  to 
accomplish  a  certain  purpose,  and  was  deter- 
mined not  to  flinch  because  it  might  be  dis- 
agreeable to  carry  out.  "If  she  is  not  in  I 
will  come  again,"  she  told  herself. 

But  Estelle  was  in.  The  boy  came  back  in 
the  course  of  a  few  minutes  with  word  that  the 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  147 

caller  was  to  walk  up  to  the  parlor  on  the  next 
floor.  Louise  wondered,  as  she  took  her  way 
thither,  whether  the  boy  would  tell  the  clerk 
who  she  was,  and  thus  start  bar  room  comment 
on  the  strangeness  of  her  visit. 

Estelle  appeared  in  the  doorway  of  the 
dingy  drawing  room  a  few  minutes  after  she 
herself  had  arrived  there.  "  Why,  Mrs.  Dean," 
she  exclaimed,  "  how  good  of  you  to  come  !  " 

It  was  with  an  effort  that  Louise  took  the 
hand  held  out  to  her.  It  lay  as  a  piece  of  ice 
in  her  own  hand,  but  the  actress'  cheeks  were 
flaming. 

"  I  wanted  to  know  how  you  were," 
Louise  replied.  "  I  shall  not  soon  forgot  the 
day  we  passed  together  in  that  Nebraska  far- 
mer's home." 

"  When  you  were  so  very,  very  kind  to 
me."  Estelle  dropped  her  eyes  from  her 
caller's  persistent  gaze  as  she  murmured  the 
words. 

"  Have  you  entirely  recovered  from  the 
shock  of  the  accident?"  Louise  went  on,  ask- 
ing herself  if  the  interview  could  possibly  be 


148  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

inflicting  as  much  torture  on  this  other  woman 
as  it  was  on  herself. 

"  Oh,  yes,  indeed ;  long,  long  ago.  You 
were  such  a  capital  nurse,  Mrs.  Dean.  I  wish 
that  I  might  repay  you  in  some  way  for  what 
you  did  for  me,  an  utter  stranger." 

"  I  could  not  have  done  less,  Miss  Osgood." 
Estelle  instinctively  shrank  away  a  little  at  the 
coldness  of  this  response.  "  You  were  within 
a  few  hours  of  us  in  the  fall,  I  believe,"  Louise 
continued  after  an  instant. 

"  We  played  one  night  in  Albany,"  Estelle 
answered  in  a  very  low  tone. 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Dean  was  in  Albany  that  same 
night. "  There  was  something  in  Louise's  voice 
that  sent  a  thrill  to  Estelle's  soul.  How  much 
did  Gilbert's  wife  know,  she  asked  herself  ?  A 
deadly  fear  took  possession  of  her.  She  had 
foreboded  ill  when  she  learned  who  had  called. 
Now  she  felt  that  the  supreme  moment  had 
come.  The  eyes  of  this  woman  were  fixed  on 
her  face  as  though  they  would  read  her 
through  and  through. 

"  Did  you  not  see  him  ?  "  Estelle  heard  this 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  149 

question  as  in  a  dream.  How  should  she  an- 
swer ?  She  recalled  Gilbert's  reassuring  letter ; 
that  it  was  all  right  about  that  telegram ;  that 
she  need  not  worry. 

"  Yes,"  she  admitted  waveringly. 

"  You  are  franker  than  my  husband,"  re- 
joined Louise,  in  a  voice  of  steel.  "  He  did  not 
mention  the  fact  to  me." 

The  agony  that  was  now  depicted  on  Es- 
telle's  face  would  have  been  pitiful  to  a  less 
merciless  observer.  She  knew  not  what  to 
say  ;  it  seemed  to  her  as  if  the  end  of  all  things 
had  come. 

"  Perhaps,  then,  you  can  tell  me "  Louise 

started  to  continue,  when  the  bell  boy  entered 
the  room. 

"A  gentleman  to  see  you,  Miss  Myrwin," 
he  said,  and  he  handed  Estelle  a  card. 

Louise  was  white.  She  knew  intuitively 
that  it  was  her  husband's  card,  and  now,  as 
Estelle  took  it  from  the  salver,  she  was  sure 
of  it,  from  its  peculiar  shape. 

An  expression  of  consternation  came  into 
the  eyes  of  the  actress.  "  Tell  him,"  she 


150  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

stammered,  and  then  paused,  her  confusion 
overwhelming  her.  "Tell  him,"  she  began 
again — "  tell  him  I  cannot  see  him." 

"Tell  him  she  will  see  him,"  interposed 
Louise,  in  commanding  tones. 

The  earnestness  of  her  words  compelled  the 
boy  to  obey.  Estelle  raised  her  hand  in  pro- 
test, and  called  hysterically  after  him ;  but 
once  safely  out  of  the  room  he  had  no  thought 
of  returning. 

"  The  presence  of  his  wife  should  not  deprive 
Mr.  Dean  of  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you,"  said 
Louise,  in  contemptuous  irony.  Her  words 
cut  deep,  but  Kstelle  made  no  reply.  She  was 
dazed.  What  would  another  minute  bring 
forth? 

For  six  months  Dean  had  not  seen  the  woman 
who  filled  his  heart  to  the  exclusion  of  all 
others.  He  burst  into  the  room  with  eager 
joy.  He  had  almost  reached  Estelle,  his  hands 
outstretched,  when  he  stopped,  stunned — there 
was  his  wife ! 

It  was  an  awful  moment.  He  staggered 
back,  as  one  thrust  through  by  a  dagger.  His 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  15 J 

brain  reeled ;  his  wife's  eyes  burned  into  his 
very  soul.  He  tried  to  speak.  Louise  raised 
her  hand. 

"An  unexpected  pleasure  for  you,  Mr. 
Dean,  no  doubt,"  she  said,  with  biting  sarcasm. 
u  You  could  hardly  have  anticipated  finding 
your  wife  with  this  woman." 

Estelle  sprang  to  her  feet  with  flashing  eyes. 
"  You  have  no  right,  madam,  to  refer  to  me  in 
such  words." 

"  I  have  the  right  to  say  what  I  choose  to 
this  man  ;  I  was  not  addressing  you." 

Louise  had  the  stronger  nature.  Estelle 
felt  this — realized  the  feebleness  of  her  protest. 
Louise  went  on. 

"  I  have  trapped  you  at  last,"  she  said,  turn- 
ing again  to  her  husband ;  "  trapped  you  in  her 
very  presence.  Your  infamy  is  plain  to  me 
now.  I  have  seen  Illford,  and  know  all.  He 
was  not  in  Albany  last  November.  You  did 
not  go  there  to  meet  him,  but  to  be  with  this 
woman — your  companion  in  shame." 

Dean  took  a  quick  step  forward.  The  honor 
of  her  he  loved  had  been  assailed.  It  mattered 


152  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

not  that  the  assailant  was  his  wife.  "  I  will 
not  permit  you  to  imply  aught  against  Miss 
Osgood,"  he  cried  hotly. 

Louise  answered  with  a  bitter  sneer. 

"  I  take  my  oath  that  she  is  as  pure  as  your- 
self," Dean  went  on,  now  thoroughly  aroused. 

"  Your  oath,  Gilbert  Dean,"  exclaimed 
Louise,  with  ineffable  scorn.  "  The  oath  of 
a  man  who  can  perjure  himself  as  you  have 
done  !  "  Her  voice  was  raised  ;  her  face  was 
white  with  righteous  wrath.  "  I  have  done 
with  you  forever,"  she  cried.  "  You  will  have 
to  cover  up  your  infidelity  with  no  more  false- 
hoods. She  can  have  you,  miserable  woman  !" 
And  Louise  started  to  leave  the  room. 

Dean  sprang  forward  and  caught  her  by  the 
wrist.  "  You  shall  not  go  like  this,"  he  com- 
manded. "  You  must  believe  me  ;  I  have  told 
you  the  truth.  You  are  mad,  Louise.  For 
God's  sake,  think  what  you  have  said  !  " 

"  Coward  !  "  she  muttered,  and,  wrenching 
herself  from  his  grasp,  fled  from  the  room  and 
out  past  the  listeners  who  had  gathered  in 
the  hall. 


XIV. 

OEVEN  o'clock  the  next  morning.  The 
waitress  at  the  Deans'  has  just  entered  the 
dining  room  to  throw  open  the  shutters  and 
make  ready  for  breakfast.  She  has  let  in  the 
cheerful  sunlight  from  three  of  the  windows. 
In  starting  toward  the  fourth,  she  sees  some- 
thing at  her  feet,  almost  trips  over  it,  in  fact. 
It  is  the  prostrate  figure  of  a  woman — Mrs. 
Dean.  The  eyes  are  staring,  looking  up  at 
the  terrified  servant  with  a  glassiness  that  can 
mean  but  one  thing. 

The  girl  drops  to  her  knees  and  places  a 
hand  against  the  white  cheek.  It  is  ice  cold. 
She  springs  up  and  flies  shrieking  from  the 
room.  The  other  servants  rush  forth,  but  the 
waitress  can  tell  them  only  that  their  mistress 
is  lying  dead  upon  the  floor.  Then  she  runs 
up  the  stairway,  calling  out  "  Mr.  Dean,  Mr. 
Dean ! "  while  the  coachman  goes  for  the  doctor. 
153 


154  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

But  Mr.  Dean  is  not  to  be  found.  The  room 
which  he  usually  occupies  with  his  wife  is 
empty ;  the  bed  has  not  been  disturbed.  In  the 
mean  time  the  physician  has  arrived. 

"  It  is  too  late,"  were  his  first  words.  "Poor 
Mrs.  Dean ! "  he  added.  "  What  can  this 
mean?" 

A  closer  examination  revealed  marks  about 
the  throat  that  suggested  a  tragedy. 

"  This  must  be  the  explanation,"  reasoned 
the  doctor ;  "  but  who  could  have  committed 
this  horrible  crime  ?  Gilbert  ?  Oh,  no,  no — it 
can't  be,  and  yet  he  is  missing." 

Quickly  the  news  flies  from  tongue  to  tongue ; 
quickly  it  spreads  over  the  town ;  quickly  it 
flashes  along  the  wires  to  the  metropolis,  and 
the  eyes  of  the  world  are  turned  toward  the 
scene  of  the  tragedy.  Islington  itself  is  stirred 
to  fever  heat.  The  wildest  rumors  gain  cre- 
dence, and  every  man  has  a  theory  of  his  own. 
All  business  is  suspended,  and  the  soil  is  be- 
reft of  its  tillers. 

Dean's  unaccountable  absence  caused  im- 
mediate suspicion  to  rest  upon  him,  and  yet 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  155 

his  friends,  one  and  all,  forced  the  ugly 
thought  from  their  minds.  Gilbert  Dean  a 
murderer,  the  murderer  of  his  wife  ?  Horrible, 
impossible  !  But  the  human  mind  easily  ad- 
justs itself  to  new  conditions,  and  startling 
facts  are  readily  absorbed  after  the  first  shock. 
"  Why  should  Mr.  Dean  have  mysteriously 
disappeared  ?  "  every  one  asked  himself.  "  It 
looks  black,"  was  the  inevitable  conclusion. 
"  But  Gilbert  Dean,  of  all  men  !  "  protested  his 
friends.  "  He  was  the  most  popular  man  in 
town — rich — generous — sunny. " 

"There  must  be  some  explanation,"  reasoned 
the  more  thoughtful.  "  We  will  not  damn  so 
good  a  fellow  as  Gilbert  Dean  unheard." 

The  current  of  comment  had  turned  some- 
what in  his  favor,  when  it  became  noised 
about  that  there  had  been  a  quarrel  late  the 
previous  afternoon  between  him  and  Mrs. 
Dean.  The  facts  were  greatly  exaggerated — 
grotesquely  distorted.  In  all  the  gossip  the 
actress  figured  conspicuously.  And  the  wrath 
of  the  town,  especially  the  feminine  por- 
tion of  it,  was  turned  towards  her.  Meanwhile, 


156  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

fortunately  for  Estelle,  she  was  well  away  from 
Islington,  having  left  on  the  early  morning 
train  with  her  company.  When  it  became 
known  that  she  had  gone,  gossips  at  once 
assumed  that  Dean  had  gone  with  her.  The  bit- 
ter feeling  against  her  lessened,  in  a  measure, 
the  suspicion  that  rested  on  him,  and  many 
went  so  far  as  to  charge  her  with  the  crime. 
It  was  established,  however,  at  the  inquest 
that  her  whereabouts  could  be  satisfactorily 
accounted  for  during  the  entire  time  of  her 
stay  in  Islington. 

This  bit  of  evidence  was  disappointing, 
and  many  were  the  narrow  minds  that  per- 
sisted even  now  that  she  was  the  guilty  one. 

"  There  are  witches,"  suggested  one  old 
woman. 

"  I'm  sure  there  must  be,"  assented  her  lis- 
tener with  a  little  shudder.  "  If  there  wasn't, 
how  could  there  be  so  many  mysteries? " 

"  And  dark  ones." 

"  Yes,  and  murders  even." 

"  Oh,  think  of  it,  and  this  woman  was  an 
actress." 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  157 

"  Those  actresses  are  just  imps  of  the  devil, 
that's  what  I  think." 

"  Of  course  they  are ;  just  imps." 

And  thus  primed,  the  two  women  separated, 
and  each  repeated  the  other's  words  to  eager 
ears.  Thus  began  a  conception  of  Estelle  that 
grew  in  hideousness  until  she  was  little  else 
than  a  fiend  incarnate  in  the  eyes  of  Islington. 

John  Upton,  the  neighbor  of  somewhat  un- 
certain habits,  testified  that  he  came  home  the 
night  previous  well  on  towards  midnight ;  that 
just  before  reaching  his  own  gate  he  saw  Gil- 
bert Dean  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  street ;  that 
he  was  walking  rapidly,  and  apparently  had 
just  left  home. 

"I  called  to  him,"  said  Upton,  "but  he 
didn't  answer  me,  and  he  was  soon  beyond 
hearing." 

There  was  some  doubt  in  the  minds  of  many 
about  the  reliability  of  testimony  from  such  a 
source ;  yet,  supported  by  that  of  the  next 
witness,  it  made  a  marked  impression.  This 
witness  stated  that  he  was  at  the  railway 
station  at  midnight ;  that  just  as  the  east  bound 


1 58  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

train  was  pulling  out,  Gilbert  Dean  ran  up 
and  swung  himself  on  the  last  car  ;  that  he 
(the  witness)  spoke  to  him  as  he  passed,  but 
that  Dean  made  no  response,  and  hurried  into 
the  car. 

The  witness  added  that  he  recalled  now  that 
Dean  seemed  a  good  deal  agitated — a  habit 
witnesses  not  infrequently  have  when  their 
imagination  has  been  quickened  by  the  ringer 
of  suspicion. 

The  testimony  of  the  last  two  men  began 
to  weave  the  noose  around  Dean's  neck.  The 
friends  who  had  stood  out  most  stoutly  for 
him  were  compelled  to  waver.  And  their 
faith  in  him  was  still  further  shaken  by  the 
receipt  of  a  telegram  from  the  conductor  of  the 
train  on  which  Dean  left  town.  It  stated 
that  he  had  no  ticket ;  that  he  paid  his  fare 
to  Albany,  and  that  he  left  the  train  at 
Schenectady. 

There  was  breathless  silence  during  the 
reading  of  this  telegram,  and  then  the  people 
looked  at  one  another,  and  pain  was  on  their 
faces.  "  Poor  Dean,"  they  seemed  to  say  as 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  159 

with  one  voice,  and  then  they  asked  them- 
selves what  could  have  brought  him  to  this 
— Dean,  the  most  tender  hearted  man  they 
knew. 

Immediately  upon  receipt  of  the  telegram 
from  the  conductor,  the  sheriff  wired  a  descrip- 
tion of  Dean  to  Schenectady,  requesting  his 
arrest  on  a  charge  of  murder. 

It  was  three  o'clock  in  the  morning  when 
Dean  reached  Schenectady.  He  went  to  a 
hotel  near  the  station.  He  was  exhausted 
mentally  and  physically  alike.  The  strain  of 
the  last  ten  hours  had  aged  him  years.  He 
walked  up  to  his  room  with  the  step  of  an 
old  man,  and  yet  the  sun  had  cast  its  cheerful 
glow  upon  the  world  before  slumber  sealed 
his  eyes. 

He  slept  on  and  on,  outraged  nature  hold- 
ing him  in  her  recuperative  grasp.  At  length 
he  was  awakened  by  a  rude  knocking  at  his 
door.  He  raised  himself  on  his  elbow  and 
looked  wildly  about  him.  The  room  was 
strange  to  his  eyes.  Where  was  he,  and  why 
was  he  there? 


160  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

Then  memory  served  him.  It  all  came 
back  to  him :  the  hideous  thing  he  had  be- 
come, the  misery  he  had  caused,  the — oh,  it 
was  horrible.  He  covered  his  face  with  his 
hands  as  though  thus  he  could  shut  out  the 
mental  vision. 

There  came  a  blow  at  the  door  that  threat- 
ened to  wrench  it  from  its  fastenings,  and 
Dean  answered.  In  another  minute  he  was 
confronted  by  a  burly  officer  with  blue  coat 
and  brass  buttons. 

Dean's  heart  stood  still.  "  You  probably 
know  why  I  am  here,"  said  the  policeman 
gruffly. 

Dean  gasped.  His  nerves  had  been  shaken 
to  their  very  foundation. 

"What — what  do  you  want  of  me?"  he 
stammered  in  confused  reply.  "  What  is  the 
charge  against  me  ?  " 

"Murder!" 

"  Murder  ?"  exclaimed  Dean.  "  Murder  ?  " 
Is  she  dead  ?  "  and  he  fell  back  senseless  upon 
the  bed. 


XV. 

T  T  was  the  day  of  the  trial.  The  court  room 
was  packed  to  suffocation,  and  those  who 
could  not  get  inside  formed  groups  in  the 
halls  and  on  the  street  without,  all  discussing 
the  one  absorbing  topic. 

Dean  had  protested  his  innocence  from  the 
first,  but  even  those  who  had  been  his  closest 
friends  had  their  faith  in  him  staggered,  not 
only  by  the  evidence  brought  forward  at  the 
inquest,  but  by  his  own  words  when  appre- 
hended in  the  hotel  at  Schenectady.  What 
his  defense  would  be  none  knew  except  his 
lawyer,  Philip  Wilton,  a  Lakefield  chum  of 
his,  who  had  been  summoned  from  New  York 
to  take  charge  of  the  case. 

The  State  was  represented  by  Amos  Grymes, 
the  district  attorney,  who  entered  upon  this 
trial  with  almost  savage  delight.  It  furnished 
him  the  opportunity  he  had  dearly  craved. 

161 


1 62  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

He  was  ambitious  for  political  advancement. 
What  mattered  it  to  him  whether  this  ad- 
vancement were  built  upon  the  grave  of  a 
fellow  man?  He  had  no  sentiment  in  his 
cold  nature.  He  did  not  know  the  meaning 
of  an  emotion.  The  conviction  of  Dean  meant 
glory  for  him,  and  what  was  Dean  to  him  ? 
What  was  any  man  to  him  ? 

"  Every  one  for  himself  in  this  world,"  was 
Grymes'  creed.  "  The  world  has  always  been 
against  my  family — against  me.  I  have  pro- 
gressed simply  because  I  have  fought  the 
world,  and  now  I  have  made  a  start,  I'll  show 
them  that  a  Grymes  can  compel  recognition." 

Amos  Grymes  was  not  a  comely  man  to 
look  upon.  He  was  of  a  stubby  type,  with 
square  jaw  and  heavy  features — almost  sullen, 
they  were.  His  hands  were  hard,  with  stumpy 
fingers.  The  fiber  of  the  man  was  coarse.  Avarice 
and  ambition  were  the  passions  of  his  life. 
He  had  risen  to  be  district  attorney  through 
the  manipulation  of  machine  politics.  His 
strength  lay  with  the  worst  element.  This 
tragedy  at  the  Deans'  had  set  on  fire  his  miser- 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  163 

able  soul.  He  saw  at  once  opening  before 
him  visions  of  power  that  had  hitherto  seemed 
afar  off. 

A  hush  as  of  death  fell  upon  the  room  when 
the  prisoner  was  brought  in.  The  most  mor- 
bid of  the  spectators  could  not  have  imagined 
a  change  in  him  more  awful  than  was  the 
reality.  There  was  a  dullness  in  the  eye,  a 
languor  in  the  carriage,  a  droop  of  the  shoulders, 
that  made  him  as  different  from  the  Gilbert 
Dean  of  yore  as  pale  moonbeams  differ  from 
the  radiant  shafts  of  sunlight. 

The  judge  entered  and  took  his  seat,  a  jury 
was  sworn  in,  and  then  the  clerk  of  the  court 
read  the  indictment,  charging  Gilbert  Dean 
with  the  murder  of  his  wife,  Louise  Dartmouth 
Dean.  Thereupon  Amos  Grymes  stepped 
forth,  and  made  a  presentation  of  the  case. 

"  The  crime  which  I  shall  seek  to  bring  home 
to  its  proper  source,"  he  said,  among  other 
things,  "is  one  of  peculiar  atrociousness.  Not 
the  greed  of  gain,  nor  the  desire  of  revenge, 
nor  the  stroke  that  seeks  its  victim  in  a  moment 
of  passion — with  none  of  these  do  we  have  to 


1 64  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

deal.  Cold,  deliberate,  unprovoked  murder 
confronts  us,  and  should  the  guilty  one  escape, 
through  any  false  sympathy  due  to  hitherto 
good  standing  in  the  community,  it  will  be  a 
blot  upon  the  justice  of  the  county  that  can 
never  be  effaced." 

Grymes  then  proceeded  to  state  what  he 
proposed  to  prove,  which  was  that  the  pris- 
oner could  not  be  more  plainly  guilty  than  if 
he  had  been  taken  red  handed  in  the  very 
act. 

The  district  attorney  now  called  the  first 
witness,  a  maid  in  the  service  of  Mrs.  Dean. 
She  testified  that  she  had  admitted  her  mis- 
tress to  the  house  about  five  o'clock  in  the 
afternoon  preceding  the  tragedy ;  that  Mrs. 
Dean  had  seemed  much  disturbed  in  mind, 
and  scarcely  tasted  of  her  dinner.  She  stated 
furthermore  that  Mr.  Dean  did  not  come  home 
according  to  his  custom. 

"  He  was  not  in  the  habit,  then,  of  staying 
away  from  this  meal  ?  "  asked  Grymes. 

"  Oh,  no,  sir." 

"  Very  good,"  said  the  attorney,  with  such 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  165 

a  look  of  satisfaction  that  the  poor  witness 
came  near  breaking  down  on  the  stand,  fearing 
that  she  had  said  something  to  convict  her 
master. 

"  Will  you  kindly  state,"  Grymes  went  on, 
"  when  was  the  next  time  you  saw  Mr.  Dean  ?" 

"  Not  till  this  blessed  minute  as  I  see  him 
now  afore  me,  God  have  mercy  on  us  all." 

"  Never  mind  sentiment,"  snapped  Grymes, 
adding,  "  But  the  fact  that  you  did  not  see  him 
would  not  prevent  his  having  come  to  the 
house  without  your  knowledge?  He  carried 
a  latch  key,  did  he  not?" 

"  Yes,  sir,  always." 

"  At  what  time  did  you  retire  on  the  night 
of  the  murder  ?  " 

"  About  ten,  sir." 

"  And  you  were  roused  by  no  noise  during 
the  night  ?  " 

"  No,  sir." 

"  Were  you  ever  aroused  by  any  noise  in  the 
night?" 

"  I  can't  just  think  now,  but  I  suppose,  sir, 
I  have  been." 


1 66  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

"  I  dare  say.  In  case  a  burglar  had  effected 
an  entrance,  you  might  have  heard  him  with- 
out being  sufficiently  awakened  to  be  alarmed?" 

"  Oh,  sir,  I  don't  know." 

"  Are  you  a  light  sleeper  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  think  I  am." 

Grymes  then  proceeded  to  another  point  of 
attack. 

"  When  you  came  down  stairs  the  next 
morning  did  you  pass  out  by  the  front  door 
for  any  purpose  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir ;  to  sweep  off  the  piazza." 

"  Did  you  notice  that  the  lock  of  the  door 
had  been  tampered  with  in  any  way  ?  " 

"  No,  sir." 

"And  when  you  came  to  open  the  win- 
dows, did  you  find  anything  wrong  about 
them?" 

"  No,  sir." 

"  And  was  there  any  silver  or  jewelry  or 
money  missing  from  the  house  ?  " 

"  No,  sir;  not  a  thing." 

This  witness  was  then  dismissed,  and  the 
cook  was  called,  and  put  through  an  almost 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  167 

similar  catechism.  Her  answers  were  to  the 
same  end — that  no  alarm  was  heard  in  the 
night,  that  nothing  was  missing  in  the  morn- 
ing, no  locks  broken,  nor  was  there  any  evi- 
dence about  the  place  to  show  that  any  stranger 
had  been  there. 

A  chambermaid  from  the  Forest  King  House 
was  next  placed  on  the  stand,  and  after  testi- 
fying as  to  her  name  and  occupation,  had  this 
question  put  to  her  by  Grymes : 

"  Did  you,  or  did  you  not,  hear  high  voices 
coming  from  the  ladies'  parlor  in  the  hotel  on 
the  afternoon  preceding  the  murder  ?  " 

"  I  did,  sir." 

"  Was  it  a  man's  or  a  woman's  voice  that 
seemed  to  be  the  most  threatening  ?  " 

"  A  man's  voice,  sir." 

"  Could  you  catch  what  he  said?  " 

"  Yes,  sir ;  some  of  it." 

"  Will  you  tell  the  jury  what  you  heard  ?  " 

"  Well,  sir,  one  thing  he  said  was,  '  You 
shall  not  get  away,'  very  savage-like." 

Profound  sensation  in  the  court.  Grymes' 
stubby  mustache  raised  itself  slightly,  making 


1 68  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

about  his  mouth  a  close  approach  to  a  smile. 
Dean  made  a  quick  movement  as  if  about  to 
speak,  then  sank  back  listlessly. 

"  You  have  no  means  of  knowing,  of  course," 
Grymes  went  on,  "  to  whom  this  remark  was 
addressed  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  have,"  answered  the  witness  ; 
"  because  the  next  minute  Mrs.  Dean  rushed 
out  of  the  room  like  as  if  she  had  tore  herself 
loose  from  somebody  a  holding  of  her." 

Another  sensation,  and  another  gleam  of 
satisfaction  in  the  district  attorney's  covetous 
eyes. 

"  Did  you  hear  anything  else  after  Mrs. 
Dean  had  taken  her  departure  ?  "  he  now  went 

on. 

"Yes,  sir." 

There  was  breathless  silence  in  the  court, 
and  heads  were  eagerly  craned  not  to  lose  a 
syllable  of  the  testimony  that  was  about  to  be 
submitted. 

"  Will  you  tell  the  jury  what  you  heard  ? 
What  remark  did  the  prisoner  make  just  after 
his  wife  had  gone?" 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  169 

"  He  said  that  he  would  find  a  way  to  silence 
her,  that  the  actress  woman  need  not  be 
alarmed." 

A  low  murmur  of  indignation  swept  through 
the  court  room,  which  was  checked  by  the 
judge.  Again  Dean  started  up  as  if  to  protest, 
but  once  more  sank  back,  with  the  same  hope- 
less look  in  his  eyes. 

"What  response,  if  any,  did  Miss  Myrwin 
make  to  this?"  proceeded  Grymes. 

"  She  spoke  quite  low,  sir,  and  I  could  not 
rightly  hear,  but  it  sounded  like,  'I  won't  be 
talked  about  in  that  way,  Gilbert.  You  must 
defend  my  good  name.'" 

"Are  you  quite  certain  she  spoke  to  the 
prisoner  as  '  Gilbert '  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir;  I  heard  that  quite  distinctly." 

"  What  response  did  he  make  ?  " 

"  He  said  that  it  was  shameful ;  that  he 
didn't  care  whether  it  was  his  wife  or  not ; 
that  he  was  going  to  make  her  right  the  wrong 
she  had  done  them,  if  it  took  force  to  do  it." 

"  You  are  certain  the  prisoner  made  use  of 
the  word  '  force '  ?  " 


1 70  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  What  else  did  they  say  ?  " 

"I  couldn't  hear  all." 

"Tell  the  jury,  please,  what  you  did 
hear." 

"Well,  there  was  something  about  her 
having  'made  his  life  miserable,'  that  she  was 
'  a  millstone  about  his  neck.'  " 

"  What  else  did  you  hear  ?  " 

"  Nothing  else,  except  a  noise  as  if  he  was 
coming  out,  and  then  we  hurried  to  get 
away." 

"  You  say  '  we.'  Who  else  was  with  you 
in  the  hall  ?  " 

"  Johnny  Crump,  and  Mrs.  Mix,  who  had  a 
room  on  that  floor." 

These  two  were  then  called  to  the  stand  in 
quick  succession,  and  corroborated  all  that  the 
chambermaid  had  said  up  to  the  point  where 
Mrs.  Dean  had  left  the  room.  They  had  both 
retreated  at  that  stage,  but  the  boy  came  back 
in  time  to  hear  the  prisoner  say  that  somebody 
was  a  millstone  about  his  neck. 

Grymes  had  spent  much  labor  upon  these 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  171 

witnesses.  He  had  sought  frequent  interviews 
with  them,  and  by  patient  manipulation  had 
succeeded  in  molding  their  testimony  into  the 
shape  it  finally  took.  He  next  brought  for- 
ward a  cigar  dealer  who  had  seen  Dean  come 
out  of  the  Forest  King  House  at  half  past  five. 
"  You  are  acquainted  with  the  prisoner  ?  " 
questioned  Grymes. 

"  Yes ;  he  has  often  bought  cigars  of  me." 
"  Did  you  speak  to  him  ?  " 
"Yes;  I  said,  'Good  evening,  Mr.  Dean.'" 
"  And  what  reply  did  he  make  ?  " 
"None." 

"Was  he  in  the  habit  of  ignoring  you?" 
"No;  he  was  always  very  friendly." 
"  Which   way  did    he    go  ?      Toward   his 
home?" 

"  No  ;  in  the  opposite  direction." 
"  Did  he  appear  to  be  walking  as  though  he 
had  an  object  in  view  ?  " 

"  No ;  sometimes  he  would  move  fast,  and  at 
others  slow." 

"  Where  did  you  lose  sight  of  him  ?" 

"  At  the  corner  of  Elm  and  Hawk  Streets, 


172  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

where  I  turned  off  to  go  home  and  get  my 
supper." 

The  State's  next  witness  was  a  woman  re- 
siding on  Hawk  Street,  who  had  been  stand- 
ing at  her  gate  watching  for  her  husband  to 
come  home.  She  testified  to  seeing  the  pris- 
oner pass  about  a  quarter  past  six,  and  to  think- 
ing it  strange  to  see  him  in  that  part  of  the 
town.  Then  came  a  farmer  from  Raymond 
Falls,  who  had  passed  Dean  on  the  road  to 
that  village. 

"  Was  he  walking  toward  Raymond  Falls  ?" 
asked  Grymes. 

"  Yes." 

"  Was  it  light  enough  for  you  to  be  sure  it 
was  the  prisoner  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  the  sun  hadn't  gone  down  yet" 

"  Just  in  what  part  of  the  road  was  this  ? 
Were  there  any  houses  near  ?  " 

"  No ;  it  was  by  that  piece  of  woodland  of 
Deacon  Myers'." 

Dr.  Blauvelt  was  now  called,  and  declared 
that  he  met  the  prisoner  a  few  moments  after 
the  farmer  had  passed  him. 


THE;  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  173 

"  How  do  you  know  this?" 

"  Because  within  five  minutes  I  overtook 
the  farmer." 

"  Which  way  was  the  prisoner  walking  when 
you  saw  him  ?  " 

"  Towards  Islington." 

"  Then  he  must  have  turned  around  in  the 
road  without  stopping  anywhere  ?  " 

"  Presumably,  as  there  was  no  place  for  him 
to  stop." 

Another  witness  next  testified  to  seeing  the 
prisoner  on  Liberty  Street  at  eight  o'clock. 

"  In  what  direction  was  he  walking?  " 

"Towards  Raymond  Falls." 

"  Was  he  walking  fast  or  slow  ?  " 

"  Slow;  almost  sauntering,  you  might  say." 

"  Was  it  not  dark  by  this  time? " 

"  Yes." 

"  How  then  can  you  be  certain  that  it  was 
the  prisoner  you  saw  ?  " 

"  Because  I  met  him  under  a  street  lamp." 

Mrs.  Hallohan,  residing  in  a  tenement  oppo- 
site the  Dartmouth  factory,  being  duly  sworn, 
stated  that  she  had  seen  the  prisoner  enter  his 


174  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

office  in  the  factory,  with  a  key,  a  little  after 
eight  o'clock.  A  constable  was  then  called 
who  told  of  meeting  Dean  just  as  he  was  com- 
ing down  the  steps  from  his  office,  somewhat 
after  ten.  Next  John  Upton  repeated  the  testi- 
mony he  had  given  at  the  inquest. 

"  Can  you  swear  that  he  had  just  left  his 
home?"  asked  Gryrnes. 

"  I  am  quite  certain  of  it." 

"You  saw  him  turn  out  from  the  gate, 
then?" 

"  Yes." 

"  You  said  you  spoke  to  him.  What  did 
you  say  ?  " 

"  I  called  out,  '  Hello,  you  're  going  the 
wrong  way  ! '  " 

"  And  what  reply  did  he  make  ?  " 

"None." 

"  Do  you  think  he  heard  you  ?  " 

"  He  must  have." 

That  there  should  be  no  doubt  of  this, 
Grymes  now  produced  another  witness,  who 
had  started  to  the  station  to  meet  a  friend  he 
expected  on  the  midnight  train. 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  175 

"  When  did  you  first  catch  sight  of  the  pris- 
oner?" 

"  As  a  quick  moving  shadow  coming  down 
the  driveway  from  his  house." 

"  You  say  '  quick  moving ' ;  was  the  prisoner 
running  ?  " 

"  I  should  say  he  was." 

"But  he  slowed  up  before  reaching  the 
gate  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Do  you  think  he  saw  you?  " 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  Did  you  see  Mr.  Upton  ?  " 

"  I  did." 

"  Did  you  hear  him  call  out  to  the  prisoner 
as  he  has  stated?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Where  did  the  prisoner  go  then  ?  " 

"To  the  station,  just  ahead  of  me." 

"Then  what  became  of  him  ?  " 

"  He  swung  himself  on  to  the  last  car  of 
the  Albany  train,  which  was  just  moving  out." 

The  conductor  and  brakeman  of  this  train, 
and  the  night  clerk  from  the  hotel  in  Sche- 


176  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

nectady,  were  now  examined,  and  their  evidence 
went  to  show  that  the  prisoner  was  in  a  highly 
nervous,  almost  dazed  condition  on  the  night 
of  the  murder. 

But  Grymes  did  not  rest  here.  He  fully 
realized  the  influence  Dean's  hitherto  high 
standing  in  Islington  might  have  upon  popu- 
lar opinion  in  the  way  of  awakening  sympathy 
for  him.  To  checkmate  this  he  had  gone  to 
Lakefield,  the  prisoner's  native  place,  and 
by  skilful  maneuvering,  and  with  untiring 
patience,  had  unearthed  boyish  quarrels  and 
escapades  long  since  forgotten  by  nearly  all 
concerned  in  them.  He  brought  witnesses  to 
Islington  to  prove  that  Dean  was  cursed  with 
an  ungovernable  temper,  and  that  while  he 
had  always  made  a  fair  showing  outwardly, 
his  heart  was  black.  According  to  these 
deponents,  Gilbert  Dean  had  not  a  spark  of 
gratitude  in  his  nature,  lived  only  to  gratify 
his  senses,  and  had  married  for  money. 

To  be  sure,  the  men  who  swore  to  these 
things  were  rather  threadbare,  disreputable 
looking  specimens  of  humanity  themselves. 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  177 

Envy  of  the  high  estate  to  which  their  fellow 
townsman  had  attained  might  not  have  been 
uninfluential  in  inducing  them  to  assent  to 
Grymes'  desires  ;  but  "  give  a  dog  a  bad  name 
and  hang  him."  The  astute  district  attorney 
had  laboriously  prepared  his  ground,  and  the 
seed  he  sowed  in  it  instantly  sprang  up  and 
bore  the  desired  fruit. 

From  this  phase  of  the  accused's  character 
Grymes  passed  to  the  affair  with  Marie  Myrwiu, 
the  actress,  with  the  intention  of  showing  the 
actuating  motive  for  the  crime.  Witnesses 
were  brought  from  Albany  to  prove  that  the 
two  were  together  there,  and  the  keen  scented 
attorney  even  found  out  about  the  deception 
Dean  had  practised  on  his  wife.  Eugene  Ill- 
ford  was  placed  on  the  stand  to  prove  it. 

"  You  are  a  friend  of  the  prisoner,  I  believe?" 
began  Grymes. 

"  Well,  a  business  acquaintance,  say,  rather." 

"But  you  always  had  a  high  opinion  of  his 
character  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Have  you  any  reason  to  suppose  he  deceived 


178  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

his  wife  with  regard  to  a  visit  to  Albany  in 
your  company  ?  " 

"  In  the  light  of  late  events,  I  am  compelled 
to  believe  that  he  did." 

"  Do  you  recognize  this  card  ? "  went  on 
Grymes,  passing  the  piece  of  pasteboard  over 
to  him. 

"  Yes,  it  is  the  card  I  wrote  at  his  office  the 
day  I  called  there  and  found  him  out." 

"  What  did  the  prisoner  say  with  regard  to 
the  card?" 

"  He  said  that  he  had  never  seen  it ;  that  it 
must  have  blown  out  of  the  window." 

"  Out  of  the  office  window,  he  meant,  I  pre- 
sume ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  And  yet  that  card  was  found  on  Mrs. 
Dean's  dressing  table.  How  do  you  account 
for  that  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  account  for  it." 

"  You  gathered  from  your  call  at  the  house, 
did  you  not,  that  the  prisoner  was  not  anxious 
to  have  you  meet  his  wife  ?  " 

"  Yes." 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  1 79 

"And  does  this  not  lead  you  to  infer  that 
the  prisoner  had  been  leading  a  double  life  ?  " 

"  I  confess  I  have  been  very  much  surprised 
in  him." 

While  this  testimony  was  not  so  directly 
damaging  as  the  rest,  yet,  coming  as  it  did 
from  a  friend  of  the  accused,  it  had  a  marked 
effect  on  the  jury,  as  tending  to  show  the  dark 
strain  in  Dean's  character  and  his  capacity  for 
blinding  the  eyes  of  those  who  were  about 
him.  As  the  trial  proceeded,  and  the  coil  of 
evidence  circled  more  and  more  tightly  about 
the  prisoner,  Grymes  pursued  the  trail  with 
increased  ferocity.  His  own  fame  was  spread- 
ing daily.  His  name  figured  prominently  in  all 
the  newspapers,  and  "  Grymes  Springs  a  Fresh 
Clincher  "  was  the  heavy  head  line  that  more 
than  once  stirred  his  soul  with  a  sense  of  tri- 
umph. He  rested  his  side  of  the  case  with 
perfect  confidence  in  the  outcome. 


XVI. 

pHILIP  WILTON,  Dean's  counsel,  although 
a  young  man,  had  already  established  a 
good  repiitation  in  the  metropolis.  He  had 
known  Dean  since  they  were  both  in  knicker- 
bockers, and  had  a  stanch  belief  in  his  friend's 
innocence  ;  but  in  his  attempt  to  establish  it 
he  found  himself  confronted  with  a  herculean 
task. 

He  began  the  defense  with  a  well  worded 
plea  against  the  monstrosity  of  sending  an  in- 
nocent man  to  his  death  on  circumstantial 
evidence,  citing  numerous  instances  where  this 
had  actually  been  done. 

His  first  witnesses  were  some  of  the  solid 
business  men  of  Islington,  who  testified  to 
Dean's  integrity  in  every  transaction  they  had 
had  with  him.  These  were  followed  by  citi- 
zens of  Lakefield,  who  in  refutal  of  the  stories 
told  by  the  prosecution,  related  how  Gilbert 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  181 

Dean  had  always  been,  so  far  as  they  knew,  an 
honorable,  well  conducted  boy  and  man.  Then 
came  the  sensational  feature  of  the  defense — 
Estelle's  appearance  on  the  stand. 

When  she  entered  the  court  room  the  report- 
ers from  the  newspapers  of  three  cities  put 
fresh  points  to  their  pencils  in  anticipation  of 
some  particularly  spicy  revelations.  Her  face 
was  like  marble,  not  only  in  its  whiteness,  but 
in  its  immobility.  She  had  known  what  to 
expect  in  facing  such  an  assemblage,  and  had 
steeled  herself  to  show  no  sign  of  the  anguish 
that  threatened  to  unseat  her  reason.  Only 
the  dire  necessity  of  having  to  earn  her  live- 
lihood had  enabled  her  to  play  since  that  aw- 
ful moment  when  she  had  learned  of  Mrs. 
Dean's  death. 

She  had  read  the  evidence  brought  forward 
at  the  inquest,  but  did  not  realize  how  black 
it  made  the  case  look  for  Gilbert  till  now, 
when  she  could  see  stony  despair  in  the  face 
of  the  man  in  the  prisoner's  dock.  And  yet, 
not  one  jot  did  her  belief  in  his  innocence 
abate.  The  Gilbert  Dean  she  had  known  as 


1 82  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

boy  and  man  simply  could  not  commit  so 
atrocious  a  crime;  that  was  enough  for  her. 
That  he  could  clear  himself  she  had  not  an 
atom  of  doubt — till  she  looked  upon  him  at 
this  moment.  There  was  a  hopeless  misery  in 
his  expression  that  told  of  ambition  dead,  of 
the  extinction  of  all  expectation  of  freedom. 

And  yet,  to  Bstelle's  eyes  at  least,  this 
abandonment  to  despair  was  not  the  abandon- 
ment of  guilt.  It  was  simply  the  physical 
breaking  down  of  the  man  beneath  his  terrible 
burden.  "  And  it  has  all  been  through  me," 
she  told  herself  bitterly.  "  If  I  had  not  sent 
for  him  that  night  in  Beverley,  he  would  not 
have  come  to  this !  " 

In  spite  of  all  her  determination,  her  agita- 
tion when  placed  on  the  stand  was  pitiful. 
She  could  not  but  be  conscious  of  the  detes- 
tation in  which  she  was  held  in  Islington. 
Indeed,  none  took  any  pains  to  hide  it  from 
her. 

She  testified  to  having  known  the  prisoner 
about  twenty  years,  admitted  that  they  had 
quarreled  and  separated,  and  that  she  had 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  183 

never  expected  to  see  him  again  until  they 
met  in  the  autumn. 

Then,  coming  down  to  the  interview  with 
Mrs.  Dean  at  the  Forest  King  House,  Wilton 
attempted  to  show  the  falseness  of  the  testi- 
mony of  the  listeners  in  the  hall. 

"Just  previous  to  Mrs.  Dean's  withdrawal 
from  the  room,  did  the  prisoner  say  to  her, 
'  You  shall  not  get  away '  ?  " 

"  No,  he  did  not." 

"  Can  you  recall  what  he  did  say  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  sure,  but  it  was  not  that,  I  am  cer- 
tain. What  he  meant  was,  that  he  did  not 
wish  her  to  leave  in  that  mood." 

"  Have  you  any  recollection  of  the  prisoner 
saying  he  would  find  a  way  to  silence  her  ?  " 

"  I  am  sure  he  never  said  that." 

"  You  heard  the  testimony  of  the  chamber- 
maid from  the  Forest  King  House?" 

"  I  did." 

"  Now  can  you  recall  addressing  the  prisoner 
in  the  words  of  that  witness : '  I  won't  be  talked 
about  in  that  way.  You  must  defend  my 
good  name '  ?  " 


1 84  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

"  I  may  have  said  that.  I  was  very  much 
agitated." 

"  One  more  question,  Miss  Osgood.  Did 
the  prisoner  say  his  wife  had  made  his  life 
miserable,  that  she  was  a  millstone  about  his 
neck  ?  " 

"  No,  he  did  not ;  that  is  wholly  false." 
Grymes  now  took  up  the  cross  examination 
of  the  actress.  It  was  difficult  for  him  to  con- 
ceal the  satisfaction  he  derived  from  this 
task.  He  knew  that  each  question  would 
act  as  a  probe  upon  a  still  bleeding  wound, 
but  that  inspired  in  him  no  compassion.  The 
sentiment  was  foreign  to  his  nature. 

"In   the   direct   examination,"    he    began, 
"  you  stated  your  belief  that  the  prisoner  did 
not  wish  his  wife  to  leave  the  room  in  that 
mood.     To  what  mood  did  you  refer  ?  " 
"  She  was  very  much  excited." 
"  Can  you  state  what  had  excited  her? " 
"The  interview.     She  did  not  know  that 
her  husband  and  I  were  such  old  friends,  and 
thought  it  strange  that  he  should  come  to  the 
hotel  to  see  me." 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  185 

"  Very  good.  You  affirmed  on  the  direct 
examination  that  the  prisoner  did  not  say  he 
would  find  a  way  to  silence  her.  But  two 
witnesses  are  agreed  that  he  did  say  it.  Now 
can  you  recollect  his  saying  anything  that  was 
similar,  some  sentence  with  the  word  'silence ' 
in  it?" 

Estelle  reflected  an  instant  and  then  an- 
swered. 

"  He  may  have  said  something  to  the  effect 
that  the  only  thing  we  could  do  was  to  keep 
silent  about  the  matter." 

"  That  does  not  sound  much  like  the  words 
the  other  two  witnesses  testify  to  having  heard. 
Do  you  not  think  that  your  agitation — you 
admitted  under  my  opponent's  examination  that 
you  were  agitated — do  you  not  think  that  this 
agitation  may  have  weakened  your  memory?" 

"  It  may  have  to  some  extent,  but  I  am 
sure  there  was  nothing  threatening  to  Mrs. 
Dean  said." 

"  But  you  cannot  state  just  what  was  said." 

"  No,  I  cannot." 

Estelle  then  left  the  stand,  and  a  recess  was 


1 86  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

taken.  Held  in  abhorrence  as  she  was  in  the 
town,  her  testimony  had  added  little  to  streng- 
then Dean's  case.  None  doubted  that  the  actress 
would  not  hesitate  to  perjure  herself  if  thereby 
she  might  help  the  man  over  whom,  to  their 
eyes,  she  had  cast  her  spell. 


XVII. 

^\X7HEN  the  court  reconvened,  Dean  him- 
self was  placed  on  the  stand,  and  invited 
to  account  for  his  whereabouts  on  the  night  of 
the  murder. 

"  At  what  time  did  you  leave  the  Forest 
King  House?"  asked  Wilton. 

"  About  six  o'clock." 

"  Do  you  recall  seeing  Thomas  Stearns,  the 
cigar  dealer,  as  you  came  out  ?  " 

"  No,  I  do  not  remember  recognizing  any 
one." 

"  Where  did  you  go  first  ?  " 

"  Nowhere  in  particular.  The  scene  with 
my  wife  had  left  me  in  a  very  excited  frame 
of  mind." 

"  But  you  surely  have  some  knowledge  of 
the  direction  in  which  you  walked,  have  you 
not  ?  " 

"I  only  know  that  after  I  had  been  walking 
187 


1 88  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

for  some  time  I  found  myself  on  the  road  to 
Raymond  Falls." 

"  About  what  time  was  this  ?  " 

"  Sunset ;  about  seven  o'clock." 

"What  did  you  do  then?  Had  you  any 
purpose  in  going  to  Raymond  Falls?" 

"  No  ;  I  did  not  go  there.  I  turned  around 
and  walked  back  toward  town." 

"  Why  did  you  take  this  long,  purposeless 
walk?" 

"  I  was  trying  to  plan  out  some  course  of 
action." 

"  Where  did  you  go  when  you  reached 
town?" 

"  To  my  office." 

"  What  time  was  this  ?  " 

"  About  a  quarter  past  eight." 

"  Was  there  any  one  at  the  office  besides 
yourself  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Did  any  one  see  you  enter  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  What  did  you  do  after  you  reached  your 
office?" 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  189 

"  I  sat  down  and  continued  studying  the 
problem  before  me." 

"  You  had  no  supper,  then  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  How  long  did  you  remain  in  your  office  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know.  I  did  not  look  at  my 
watch." 

"  But  you  must  have  some  idea  whether  it 
was  one  hour,  or  two,  or  three  ?  " 

"  I  should  say  I  was  there  from  two  to  three 
hours." 

"  Where  did  you  go  when  you  left  the 
office?" 

"  Nowhere  in  particular.  I  wandered  up 
and  down  the  streets." 

"  How  much  time  did  you  spend  in  this  way  ?" 

"  Fully  half  an  hour,  I  should  think." 

"What  did  you  do  then  ?  " 

"  I  went  to  my  own  home." 

"  Did  you  enter  the  house?  " 

"  No." 

"  Why  not  ?  " 

"  Because  I  felt  that  I  could  not  yet  face  my 
wife." 


190  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

"How  long  did  you  remain  inside  the 
grounds  ?  " 

"  I  have  no  means  of  telling  for  certain." 

"  Were  there  any  lights  in  the  house  ?  " 

"  Yes,  there  was  a  light  in  the  dining  room." 

"  What  did  you  do  next  ?" 

"  I  heard  the  whistle  of  the  midnight  train, 
and  I  suddenly  determined  to  go  to  the  station 
and  board  it." 

"  Had  you  any  object  in  mind  in  thus  leav- 
ing town  ?  " 

"  None  in  particular.  I  was  still  dazed  by 
the  affair  at  the  hotel.  I  was  restless  and 
excited,  scarcely  accountable  for  what  I  did." 

"  Did  you  run  from  the  house  to  the  gate  ?" 

"  I  started  to,  as  I  feared  I  might  miss  the 
train.  Then  I  remembered  that  it  did  not 
matter  so  very  much  if  I  did  miss  it." 

"  Did  you  see  any  one  as  you  passed  out  at 
the  gate  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  I  saw  a  man  across  the  street." 

"Did  you  recognize  him?  " 

"  Not  until  he  spoke.  Then  I  knew  it  was 
John  Upton." 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  191 

"  Why  did  you  not  reply  ?  " 

"Because  I  was  not  in  a  mood  for  conver- 
sation." 

"  Had  you  any  idea  where  you  would  go 
when  you  boarded  the  train  ?  " 

"  No ;  I  simply  wanted  to  get  away  from 
the  place  where  I  had  been  through  so  much 
misery." 

"  You  did  not  stop  to  purchase  a  ticket, 
then?" 

"  No." 

"  What  did  you  say  to  the  conductor  when 
he  came  through?" 

"  I  told  him  I  wanted  to  pay  my  way  to 
Albany,  as  I  had  had  no  time  to  buy  a  ticket." 

"  You  then  left  the  train  at  Schenectady. 
Why  did  you  do  this  ?  " 

"  For  no  special  reason.  A  man  is  liable  to 
do  unaccountable  things  after  he  has  been  told 
by  his  wife  that  she  does  not  wish  to  have 
anything  more  to  do  with  him." 

There  was  a  rustling  all  over  the  court  room 
at  this  point  in  the  proceedings. 

"  When  the  officers  entered  your  room  at 


192  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

the  hotel  the  next  morning,"  Wilton  went  on, 
"  and  announced  that  you  were  wanted  on  a 
charge  of  murder,  why  did  you  exclaim,  '  Is 
she  dead?'" 

"  When  I  heard  the  word  '  murder '  from 
the  officer's  lips,  the  horrible  thought  flashed 
over  me  that  an  awful  evil  had  befallen  my 
wife." 

Grymes  now  took  up  the  cross  examination 
of  the  prisoner. 

"  When  you  left  the  Forest  King  House," 
he  asked,  "  did  you  not  at  first  walk  at  a  rather 
fast  gait?" 

"  I  may  have  done  so.  I  do  not  fully  recall 
the  speed  at  which  I  moved." 

"  And  the  direction  in  which  you  at  first 
turned  would  have  taken  you  to  your  own 
home,  would  it  not  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Can  you  give  the  jury  any  reason  why  you 
walked  toward  Raymond  Falls  ?  " 

"  No  reason  except  that  I  was  very  much 
disturbed  in  mind,  and  did  not  care  where  I 
went." 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  193 

"  You  were  thinking  of  your  wife,  I  pre- 
sume ?  " 

u  Yes." 

"  And  it  occurred  to  you,  doubtless,  that 
things  might  have  been  much  more  harmo- 
nious had  she  not  called  on  Miss  Osgood  that 
afternoon  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  This,  then,"  Grymes  went  on,  "  accounted 
for  your  perturbed  feelings  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  You  say  you  cannot  account  for  your 
walking  toward  Raymond  Falls  ;  can  you  give 
any  explanation  of  your  suddenly  ceasing  to 
go  in  that  direction,  and  turning  back  toward 
Islington  ?  " 

"  No,  I  cannot,  beyond  what  I  have  already 
said  about  my  state  of  mind." 

"  You  were  still  thinking  about  your  wife, 
I  presume?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Do  you  recall  coming  to  some  sudden  de- 
cision in  regard  to  your  course  of  action  at  the 
moment  when  you  turned  in  your  tracks?" 


194  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

Grymes  looked  very  intently  at  the  prisoner 
as  he  put  this  question. 

Dean  reflected  an  instant  before  replying, 
and  then  answered,  "  No." 

"  But  there  must  have  been  some  cause  to 
induce  you  to  turn  about  at  that  particular 
point  ?  "  persisted  Grymes. 

"  There  may  have  been,  but  my  brain  was 
in  such  a  distracted  condition  at  the  time  that 
I  have  lost  all  memory  of  it,"  replied  Dean 
wearily. 

"  When  you  went  to  your  office,"  the  dis- 
trict attorney  proceeded,  "  did  you  have  a  light 
there?" 

"  No." 

"  Were  you  in  the  habit  of  going  to  your 
office  in  the  evening  and  sitting  in  the  dark 
to  meditate?" 

"  No." 

"  If  you  heard  of  another  man  doing  it, 
would  you  not  think  it  strange,  not  to  say 
ridiculous  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  I  should." 

"  You  have  said  that  your  occupation  at  the 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  195 

office  was  to  continue  the  study  of  the  problem 
before  you.  Will  you  state  to  the  court  the 
nature  of  this  problem  ?  " 

There  was  an  instant's  silence  during  which 
the  traditional  pin  might  have  been  heard  had 
it  fallen  to  the  floor.  Then  Dean  replied  : 

"  My  wife  had  misunderstood  my  motives, 
and  I  was  endeavoring  to  reason  out  the 
proper  course  to  take  in  order  to  justify  myself 
in  her  eyes." 

Profound  sensation  in  the  court  room. 

"  When  you  waited  till  about  eleven  o'clock 
to  return  to  your  own  home,"  resumed 
Grymes,  "  did  you  have  any  special  object  in 
this  delay  ?  " 

"  No ;  I  had  not  thought  till  then  about 
going  back  at  all." 

"  At  what  time  were  your  servants  in  the 
habit  of  shutting  up  the  house  and  going  to 
bed?" 

"  At  ten  o'clock." 

"  You  have  stated  that  you  saw  a  light  in 
your  dining  room.  Did  it  not  occur  to  you  as 
strange  at  that  hour?" 


196  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

"  No ;  I  merely  supposed  that  my  wife  was 
still  sitting  up." 

"  Were  you  in  the  habit  of  occupying  the 
dining  room  as  a  sitting  room  ?  " 

"We  sometimes  remained  there  in  the 
evening." 

"  Would  you  not  consider  it  strange  in  a 
husband  to  come  to  his  house  after  eleven  at 
night  and  approach  to  within  a  few  feet  of  the 
room  where  he  knew  his  wife  was  awaiting 
him,  then  turn  about  suddenly  and  hurry 
away?" 

"  I  might  as  a  general  thing,  but  in  my  own 
case  I  had  no  reason  for  supposing  that  my 
wife  was  awaiting  me." 

"  You  admit,  then,  that  you  had  parted  in 
anger  ?  " 

"  No ;  there  was  only  a  misunderstanding 
between  us." 

"  A  misunderstanding  that  you  believed  you 
could  not  explain  away,  otherwise  you  would 
not  have  turned  about  and  rushed  off  to  catch 
that  train.  Is  this  what  the  court  is  to  con- 
clude?" 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  IQ7 

"  No ;  I  could  explain  it  away.  My  wife 
was  wrong." 

"  Why,  then,  did  you  not  go  in  and  convince 
her  of  the  fact  ?  " 

"  Because  I  had  already  endeavored  to  do  so, 
and  failed." 

"  Yet  you  knew  this  when  you  came  back 
to  your  house.  You  must  have  changed  your 
mind  suddenly ! " 

"I  did." 

"  Without  any  special  reason  for  it?  " 

"  None  except  that  the  hopelessness  of  the 
task  just  at  that  time  came  over  me  with 
convincing  power." 

"  Then  you  are  inclined  to  believe  that  had 
you  entered  the  dining  room,  and  proceeded 
to  argue  the  matter  with  her,  she  would  not 
have  taken  it  kindly?" 

"  I  have  no  belief  in  the  matter." 

"  Then  perhaps  you  have  some  knowledge?" 

"  No ;  I  cannot  make  any  statement  as  to 
what  would  have  been  the  outcome  of  an  inter- 
view that  did  not  take  place." 

"  And  yet  you  have  said  that  the  hopeless- 


198  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

ness  of  trying  to  convince  your  wife  that  she 
had  wronged  you,  was  what  caused  you  to 
leave  the  grounds.  Is  not  this  equivalent 
to  admitting  that  an  interview  at  the  time 
would  have  been  of  a  somewhat  distressing 
nature?" 

"  I  suppose  it  is,  but  as  there  was  no  inter- 
view, I  do  not  see  of  what  importance  any 
guesswork  on  my  part  as  to  its  nature  can  be." 

But  Grymes  did.  He  asked  no  more  ques- 
tions. He  seemed  perfectly  content  with  what 
he  had  already  learned.  The  case  was  then 
adjourned  to  permit  of  a  summing  up  of  the 
evidence. 

The  affair  aroused  widespread  comment. 
Dailies  in  the  big  cities  devoted  columns  to 
an  account  of  the  trial  as  it  progressed  from 
day  to  day,  and  in  Islington  itself  it  formed 
the  chief  topic  of  discussion,  although  this 
is  scarcely  the  word  where  all  were  agreed 
in  one  opinion.  In  fact,  it  had  been  a  matter 
of  extreme  difficulty  to  make  up  the  jury,  so 
outspoken  were  the  townspeople  in  their  views 
of  Dean's  conduct. 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  199 

Some  freely  expressed  themselves  to  the 
effect  that  it  was  a  waste  of  the  county's 
money  to  go  through  the  form  of  a  trial.  "In 
some  towns  of  the  Southwest,"  they  added 
suggestively,  "  short  work  would  be  made 
with  such  as  he." 

Sometimes  Wilton  wondered  whether  his 
client  would  be  safe  even  should  the  law  pro- 
nounce him  guiltless. 


XVIII. 

T^  BAN'S  lawyer  made  an  earnest  effort  to 
save  him.  He  summed  up  all  the  testi- 
mony that  had  been  brought  against  his 
client,  and  then  proceeded  to  show  that  it  was 
coincidental,  not  incriminating,  facts  that 
were  seeking  to  hurry  the  prisoner  to  the 
death  chair. 

"  In  the  fascination  of  adjusting  about  its 
victim  the  coil  of  circumstantial  evidence,"  he 
proceeded,  "  the  prosecution  has  become  blind 
to  the  light  of  reason.  It  has  contradicted 
itself.  After  carefully  collecting  witnesses  to 
prove  the  prisoner  to  be  possessed  of  ungovern- 
able temper,  in  the  heat  of  which  any  crime 
may  have  been  committed,  it  then  as  carefully 
seeks  to  show  that  the  deed  with  which  my 
client  was  charged,  was  committed  with  the 
most  fiendish  deliberation.  According  to  the 
character  the  distinguished  attorney  for  the 


200 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  2OI 

prosecution  has  given  to  the  prisoner,  the 
time  for  him  to  have  perpetrated  the  murder 
was  at  the  Forest  King  House,  when,  accord- 
ing to  the  evidence  supplied  by  the  same 
source,  the  most  direful  threats  were  uttered 
against  the  deceased.  I  need  not  remind  you 
that  this  evidence  was  shown  to  be  misleading, 
proving  that  no  threats  of  this  description 
were  made. 

"  What,  then,  are  you  asked  to  do,  gentle- 
men of  the  jury  ?  To  send  a  man  to  the  elec- 
tric chair  because  his  wife  died  a  violent 
death  some  eight  hours  after  she  had  quar- 
reled with  him.  Not  the  faintest  trace  of 
direct  proof  is  brought  against  him,  not  even 
the  fact  that  he  was  in  the  same  house  when 
she  died.  No  doubt  my  opponent  will  en- 
deavor to  convince  you  that  the  prisoner  must 
have  committed  the  deed  because  there  was 
nothing  to  show  that  anybody  else  had  done 
it.  But  is  this  the  sort  of  reasoning  on  which 
to  take  from  a  man  his  life  ? 

"  Granting  for  one  instant  that  the  prisoner, 
after  the  calm  deliberation  which  the  opposition 


202  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

has  shown  he  exercised,  did  take  the  life  of 
the  deceased,  what  would  he  gain  thereby  ? 
Doubtless  the  prosecution  will  tell  you  that 
it  was  to  remove  the  obstacle  to  his  union 
with  some  one  else.  But  is  not  such  a  suppo- 
sition illogical  on  the  face  of  it  ?  A  man  who 
would  risk  putting  his  life  in  jeopardy  to  re- 
move an  obstacle  to  a  new  marriage  would 
not  hesitate  to  gain  his  end  by  a  less  hazard- 
ous course.  Now,  gentlemen  of  the  jury,  dis- 
abuse your  minds  of  a  crime  that  everything 
seems  to  point  to ;  think  only  of  the  facts 
which  exist,  as  they  have  been  presented  to 
you,  and  see  if  in  them  you  can  find  one  single 
circumstance  that  will  convince  you  that  my 
client  has  been  guilty  of  the  most  atrocious 
of  crimes." 

A  deep  hush  succeeded  Wilton's  plea. 
Every  one  present  felt  the  solemnity  of  the 
moment.  Then  Grymes  rose,  slowly,  with 
the  air  of  a  man  fully  convinced  of  his  posi- 
tion in  the  estimation  of  his  fellow  men,  and 
who  was  therefore  in  no  hurry  to  reassert  it. 

"  Your  honor  and  gentlemen  of  the  jury," 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  203 

he  began,  with  the  same  deliberation  in  his 
speech,  "  we  are  here  on  serious  business.  I 
feel  called  upon  to  remind  you  of  this  fact 
because  I  have  feared  that  the  words  of  my 
predecessor  may  have  misled  you.  Argu- 
ments that  partake  of  so  childish  a  tinge  are 
apt  to  throw  one's  mind  off  the  true  purport  of 
the  affair  upon  which  we  are  now  engaged. 
This  is  seeing  to  it  that  justice  be  done,  with- 
out fear  or  favor.  Sentimentality  has  no  place 
in  the  problem ;  to  judge  from  the  words  of 
my  predecessor,  one  might  think  that  you, 
gentlemen  of  the  jury,  had  each  a  personal 
spite  against  the  prisoner,  which  you  were 
determined  to  gratify  by  bringing  him  in 
guilty.  For  my  part,  I  ask  you  to  look  at 
nothing,  to  consider  nothing,  but  the  evidence 
which  has  been  brought  before  you.  Here  is 
a  man  who  has  been  leading  a  double  life  for 
months  previous  to  the  commission  of  the 
crime  with  w7hich  he  is  now  charged.  He 
has  not  disputed  that  fact.  On  the  very  after- 
noon of  the  murder  he  quarrels  with  the  de- 
ceased ;  this  fact  is  not  denied  by  the  defense. 


204  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

My  colleague  tells  you  that  the  line  of  argu- 
ment of  the  prosecution  is  contradictory  be- 
cause it  seeks  to  prove,  in  one  instance,  that 
the  prisoner  is  of  quick  temper,  and  in  another 
shows  that  the  awful  deed  was  committed 
after  calm  deliberation.  But  have  you  never 
heard  of  nursing  wrath?  The  fire  to  the 
train  of  powder  was  set  during  that  interview 
in  the  hotel.  It  crept  slowly,  slowly  along 
the  line  toward  culmination  during  those 
walks  in  and  about  the  town  whose  apparent 
aimlessness  the  prisoner  himself  confesses  he 
cannot  explain. 

"  My  learned  brother  mentions  the  fact 
that  it  has  not  been  proven  that  the  prisoner 
was  in  the  house  at  the  time  the  murder  was 
committed.  The  puerility  of  this  subterfuge 
only  shows  the  weakness  of  his  case.  The 
accused  has  admitted  being  within  the  grounds ; 
we  scarcely  expect  him,  inasmuch  as  he  has 
pleaded  'Not  guilty,'  to  stand  forth  and 
acknowledge  that  he  really  strangled  the 
deceased.  But  he  had  said  in  your  hearing 
that  an  interview  with  his  wife  at  that  hour 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  205 

would  have  been  a  stormy  one.  The  spark, 
lighted  at  the  Forest  King  House,  had  been 
finding  its  way  along  the  devious  turnings  of 
the  powder  train  till  all  it  needed  was  the 
touch  of  the  powder  itself  to  burst  forth  into 
a  mighty  explosion. 

"Then  mark  the  actions  of  the  accused 
after  leaving  his  home.  He  started  to  run  at 
first;  then,  seeing  passersby,  slowed  down, 
with  that  fear  of  awakening  suspicion  which 
is  the  surest  indication  of  guilt.  He  avoids 
answering  the  salutations  of  friends,  boards  a 
midnight  train  just  as  it  is  moving  out  of  the 
station,  pays  his  fare  to  one  place  and  gets  off 
at  another,  and  when  finally  he  is  charged 
with  murder,  his  accusing  conscience  leaps 
impulsively  from  his  lips  in  the  query,  '  Is  she 
dead?' 

"  This  may  be  circumstantial  evidence,  but 
if  we  had  more,  what  need  would  there  be  of 
a  trial ? 

"  One  point  more ;  my  learned  brother  of 
the  opposition  has  declared  that  not  sufficient 
motive  has  existed  for  the  crime ;  he  has  inti- 


206  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

mated  that  a  man  would  prefer  to  commit 
bigamy  to  murder.  Perhaps  a  person  of  an- 
other disposition  might  have  done  this ;  but  as 
the  prisoner  has  himself  stated,  he  is  a  man 
of  impulse.  To  such  a  one,  murder — a  deed 
that  may  be  committed  in  an  instant — comes 
more  natural  than  the  deliberately  planned 
abandonment  of  one  woman  and  the  fleeing 
with  another.  Of  what  was  he  thinking  dur- 
ing those  long  and  aimless  walks?  He  did 
not  tell  us,  but  it  was  evidently  not  of  seeking 
consolation  with  her  who  was  the  cause  of  the 
estrangement  between  himself  and  his  wife, 
else  he  would  have  gone  to  her. 

"  Let  us  sum  up  the  whole  case  in  a  nut- 
shell. Our  town  is  shocked  with  a  murder 
whose  hideousness  calls  loudly  for  vengeance 
on  the  perpetrator.  There  is  not  the  faintest 
indication  that  it  was  committed  by  house- 
breakers ;  there  is  every  indication  that  it  was 
done  by  the  husband  whose  evil  deeds  the 
wife  had  just  brought  home  to  him.  Had  the 
affair  occurred  in  Angel  Alley  or  Paradise 
Court,  I  wager  that  there  would  have  been 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  207 

scant  hesitation  in  bringing  the  guilty  one  to 
book.  But  because  the  prisoner  resides  on 
Berkeley  Hill,  because  he  has  wealth  and 
position,  and  has  hitherto  shown  only  his 
smooth  side  to  the  community,  heaven  and 
earth  are  moved  to  set  him  free.  It  will  be 
a  lasting  blot  upon  the  county,  I  contend,  if 
this  be  done.  What,  shall  wealth  get  exemp- 
tion where  poverty  receives  only  its  just  due  ? 
The  eyes  of  half  the  country  are  on  this  town 
today ;  countless  telegraph  instruments  stand 
ready  to  click  out  the  news  of  your  decision. 
Those  who  contemplate  dark  crimes,  it  may 
be,  hinge  their  final  determination  on  what 
shall  be  the  verdict  here.  Remember  these 
facts,  and  render  your  report  in  accordance 
with  them." 

Grymes  sat  down  amid  a  buzz  of  excited 
comment,  which  ceased  quickly  as  order  was 
demanded,  and  the  judge  began  to  speak.  But 
it  was  not  to  give  his  charge  to  the  jury ;  he 
announced  instead  that  he  would  reserve  this 
for  the  next  morning,  till  which  time  the  case 
would  stand  adjourned. 


XIX. 

"  TT  is  going  to  be  against  us,  Phil;  I  feel 
sure  of  that." 

Dean's  voice  was  calm,  but  his  handclasp 
was  not  so  steady  as  it  usually  was  when  he 
welcomed  his  old  time  chum  to  his  quarters  in 
the  jail. 

"  If  it  does,  I'll  appeal  for  a  new  trial.  I 
feel  certain  I  can  get  it.  Why,  a  friend  of 
yours  is  waiting  outside  now  to  see  you.  He 
says  he  has  not  communicated  with  you  before ; 
but  he  has  been  working  for  you  all  the  time." 

"Who  is  it?" 

"  Ford  ;  Thomas  T.  Ford,"  replied  Wilton. 
"  He  has  come  all  the  way  from  Kansas  City 
expressly  to  render  you  all  the  aid  he  can." 

Dean's  face  went  white.  He  had  not  thought 
to  hear  from  the  Fords  now.  Jessie  was  a 
cousin  of  Louise.  What  did  Tom  mean  by 

coming  to  see  him  ?     Dean  had  heard  nothing 
208 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  209 

from  him  since  that  memorable  visit  to  his 
Western  home.  It  seemed  like  a  Nemesis  that 
he  should  turn  up  at  this  crisis. 

"  Bring  him  here,  and  then  leave  us  alone 
for  a  little  while,  will  you,  Phil  ?  "  and  when 
the  other  had  gone,  Dean  steeled  himself  for  an 
ordeal  he  dreaded  more  than  he  did  the  scene 
in  court  on  the  morrow. 

But  Ford's  greeting  was  altogether  different 
from  what  he  had  expected.  "Gilbert,  old 
man ! "  he  exclaimed,  with  a  pressure  of  the 
hand  that  meant  so  much  of  friendship  where 
only  contempt  had  been  awaited,  that  Dean 
was  closer  to  being  unnerved  than  during  his 
whole  awful  experience. 

"  Then  you  do  not  believe,  Tom "  he 

began,  when  Ford  interrupted  him  with — "  I 
believe  only  this,  my  dear  fellow :  that  you 
have  been  out  of  your  mind  for  more  than  a 
year  past,  and  that  you  are  no  more  respon- 
sible for  what  you  may  have  done  within  that 
period  than  a  marble  statue  would  be." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  gasped  Dean,  look- 
ing at  him  with  new  horror  in  his  eyes. 


210  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

"  Listen :  you  remember  your  last  visit  to 
our  home?" 

"  Only  too  distinctly,"  said  Dean  in  a  tone 
scarcely  audible. 

"  Well,  you  certainly  did  not  deport  yourself 
on  that  occasion  like  a  sane  being." 

"  Then  you  did  see  me  with — her  ?  " 

"  To  be  sure  I  did,  and  thought  the  worse 
of  you  till  your  inexplicable  conduct  after- 
wards convinced  me  that  you  were  not  to  be 
held  accountable  for  your  acts.  I  am  sur- 
prised that  your  lawyer  has  not  seen  matters 
in  this  light  before." 

Dean  went  up  to  his  friend,  put  an  arm  on 
either  shoulder,  and  looked  straight  into  his 
eyes. 

"  Tom,"  he  said,  "  what  is  the  undercurrent 
to  all  this?  You  must  know  perfectly  well 
that  I  deliberately  tried  to  deceive  you  that 
night.  I  was  a  bungler,  I  admit,  but  my  at- 
tempt was  made  in  the  full  light  of  reason. 
God  knows  I  have  freely  admitted  the  folly  of 
my  course  up  to  a  certain  point " 

"  Ah,  that  is  just  it !  "  broke  in  Ford.    "  You 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  211 

have  been  such  a  half  way  offender  through- 
out this  whole  miserable  business  that  there 
is  but  one  conclusion  to  arrive  at,  and  that 
one  is  the  only  thing  that  will  save  you  from 
a  shameful  death.  With  infinite  pains  I  have 
tracked  your  every  movement  that  night  in 
our  city,  and " 

"  Then  you  discovered  nothing  that  was 
really  criminal  in  any  one  of  them,  for  there 
was  nothing." 

"  The  very  point  I  wish  to  make.  Don't 
you  catch  my  meaning,  man  ?  You  had 
labored  as  though  to  produce  a  mountain,  and 
brought  forth  a  mouse.  It  was  the  same  in 
Albany — for  I  have  taken  pains  to  push  inves- 
tigation there,  too — and " 

"  Stop  !  "  cried  Dean  hoarsely.  "  I  see  what 
you  mean  now,  and  were  it  to  save  me  from 
ten  thousand  executions,  I  would  not  permit 
such  a  defense.  Drag  her  name  into  this 
wretched  affair  again,  and  in  such  a  light !  I 
would  first " 

"  But  you  are  clearing  her  name  completely, 
man,"  the  other  broke  in. 


212  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

"  Only  so  far  as  I  myself  am  concerned  ;  it 
leaves  it  smirched  by  inference  to  the  end  of 
time.  Would  you  have  me  crown  my  folly 
by  an  act  of  cowardice  so  base  that  there 
would  be  no  hole  on  earth  deep  enough  to 
hide  me  ?  " 

"  Then  you  will  go  to  the  death  chair,  Gilbert 
Dean,  as  surely  as  the  sun  will  rise  tomorrow. 
No  jury  on  earth  will  acquit  you  in  the  face 
of  the  evidence  submitted." 

"If  I  die  because  I  refuse  to  live  on  such 
terms,  I  die  more  nobly  than  I  have  lived. 
Ah,  Tom,  through  deception  I  have  already 
seared  my  soul  as  with  a  red  hot  iron.  The 
wounds  still  bleed.  I  have  done  more  evil  in 
the  world  than  there  is  time  in  eternity  to 
atone  for.  I  will  not  say,  do  not  tempt  me,  for 
it  is  no  temptation." 

"  But  if  you  will  not  think  of  yourself,  be- 
stow some  thought  on  your  friends,  on  your 
family,  on  the  family  of  poor  Louise.  If  they 
prove  you  non  compos  mentis,  not  only  are  you 
absolved  from  paying  the  penalty  for  her 
death,  but  all  your  demeanor  toward  her  will 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  213 

appear  in  a  different  light.  Surely  this  view 
of  the  case  demands  some  consideration  from 
you." 

"  Nothing  you  can  say  will  change  me, 
Tom.  I  know  you  mean  it  all  in  friendship, 
and  don't  think  I  do  not  appreciate  your  com- 
ing here  now  and  taking  my  hand  as  you 
have  done.  I  can't  think  you  would  do  this 
if  you  really  believed  that  I  deserved  the 
verdict  which  you  tell  me  the  jury  will  bring 
in  tomorrow." 

It  was  now  Ford's  turn  to  look  Dean 
straight  in  the  eyes— eyes  which  did  not  flinch 
beneath  the  penetrating  gaze. 

"  Hang  it,  man,  you  wouldn't  harm  a  fly ! 
I  know  that,  and  yet " 

"And  yet  what?" 

"  Why  must  you  meet  this  awful  death 
when  you  don't  deserve  it  ?  " 

"Perhaps  it  is  best,  Tom.  What  would 
life  be  worth  to  me  now  ?  But  your  time  is 
up.  Good  by  and  promise  me  that  you  will 
make  no  attempt  on  the  line  you  have  sug- 
gested." 


214  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

"  I  promise,  Gilbert."  They  shook  hands 
and  Ford  went  off  with  the  warden. 

Dean  sat  there  stolidly  for  a  few  moments, 
thinking  over  the  interview. 

"  He  believes  that  I  am  guilty,"  he  finally 
ejaculated.  "  And  God  help  me,  so  do  they 
all !  " 


XX. 

BAN'S  doom  was  sealed.  He  had  been 
convicted  of  murder  in  the  first  degree. 
The  jury  were  out  but  a  few  moments.  In 
their  eyes,  as  well  as  in  the  eyes  of  the  people, 
it  was  clear  that  Dean  had  murdered  his  wife. 
His  counsel's  efforts  to  obtain  a  new  trial  were 
unavailing.  The  day  was  set  for  his  removal 
to  Auburn,  and  the  week  in  which  he  was  to 
die  had  already  been  named. 

Estelle  had  come  to  Islington  that  she  might 
be  near  him  and  with  him  to  the  last.  She 
saw  him  but  once.  She  found  him  broken 
down.  He  was  an  old  man  now.  The  steel  of 
self  accusation  entered  her  soul  when  he  came 
up  to  those  cruel  dividing  bars  and  put  his 
fingers  through  for  her  to  touch. 

"  Can  you  forgive  me,  Gilbert  ?  "  she  whis- 
pered, her  eyes  streaming. 

"Forgive     you,    Estelle?"     he     repeated. 
215 


216  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

"  There  is  nothing  to  forgive.  You  are  stain- 
less, as  I  am  stainless  of  that  awful  crime  with 
which  I  am  charged.  If  I  had  heeded  you, 
I  should  not  have  laid  myself  open  to  the  sus- 
picion." 

"  But  if  I  had  not  come  into  your  life  again, 
you  would  never  have  been  brought  to  this." 

"  I  am  not  so  sure  of  that.  My  marriage 
with  Louise  was  an  unhallowed  one.  I  did  not 
love  her  as  I  should  have  done,  as  she  was  de- 
serving of  being  loved.  These  matters  always 
adjust  themselves.  In  our  case  fate  used  you 
as  the  means.  You  are  not  to  blame.  God 
knows  you  warned  me  often  enough  of  the 
folly  of  my  course." 

"  But  I  ought  to  have  gone  away,  Gilbert ; 
gone  somewhere  out  of  the  country,  where  you 
would  never  have  found  me." 

"  No,  Estelle,  your  going  away  could  not 
have  altered  my  feelings  for  you.  If  there 
were  sin  in  loving  you,  that  sin  was  mine,  not 
yours.  For  that  I  am  willing  to  answer.  We 
know,  both  of  us,  that  it  was  a  pure  love,  not 
the  sinful  one  poor  Louise  believed  it 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  217 

That  is  where  I  have  wronged  you,  Estelle. 
I  have  made  it  possible  for  the  world  to  say 
that  of  you  which  is  false,  but  which  you  are 
powerless  to  disprove.  Can  you  forgive  me 
for  that?" 

"  A  thousand  times,  dear.  But  let  us  not 
speak  of  that.  I  have  come  to  cheer  you  as 
to  the  future,  not  to  lament  the  past.  I  am 
working  to  save  you,  others  are  working. 
There  is  yet  time.  You  will  be  set  free. 
Only  keep  up  heart." 

"That  is  like  you,  Estelle,  to  be  a  com- 
forter. But  the  hope  is  vain.  Only  tell  me 
one  thing,  that  in  your  inmost  heart  you  do 
not  believe  me " 

"  Hush,  hush  !  How  can  you  suggest  such 
a  thing?  You  know  I  believe  in  you  as  I 
believe  in  my  own  life." 

"  Then  God  is  good  to  me,  very  good,  after 
all." 

The  keeper  now  touched  Estelle  on  the 
arm  to  remind  her  that  her  time  was  up. 
She  had  not  strength  to  say  good  by, 
could  only  murmur,  "  I  will  come  again,"  as 


2l8  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

she  pressed  her  lips  to  his  finger  tips.  Then 
the  jailer  helped  her  from  the  corridor,  only 
to  see  her  faint  in  Wilton's  arms. 

That  same  night  a  letter  was  brought  to 
her  at  her  hotel.  It  was  addressed  in  a 
strange  hand.  When  she  opened  it,  a  stony 
look  of  horror  came  into  her  eyes. 

A  WARNING. 

Unless  you  leave  Islington  within  twenty  four  hours 
from  this  date  you  will  be  dealt  with  summarily.     There 
will  be  no  favors  shown  you  because  you  are  not  a  man. 
Islington  shall  not  harbor  the  mistress  of  a  murderer. 
(Signed)        WHITE  CAPS. 

Estelle  sat  mute  for  an  instant,  the  sheet 
shaking  in  her  hand.  Its  every  word  stung 
her  to  the  quick.  To  be  sure,  it  was  an 
anonymous  communication,  and  as  such  de- 
served to  be  treated  with  contempt ;  but  that 
it  should  have  entered  the  mind  of  any  one  to 
write  it  was  where  the  anguish  lay. 

Once  more  she  read  the  cruel  words.  They 
seemed  to  fascinate  her  as  the  glance  of  the 
serpent  lures  the  helpless  bird.  "  Heaven  is 
merciful  in  one  thing,"  she  murmured  ;  "  that 
it  keeps  from  us  the  knowledge  of  what  the 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  219 

future  holds.  How  could  I  have  lived  my  life 
knowing  this  was  to  be  part  of  it?" 

But  presently  a  new  mood  seized  her.  Her 
eyes  flashed,  and  she  sprang  from  her  seat, 
crumpling  the  letter  in  her  hand. 

"They  shall  not  send  me  from  him,"  she 
cried.  "  I  will  stay.  They  dare  not  touch  me ! " 

She  sent  for  Wilton. 

"  Read  that,"  she  said,  handing  him  the  note. 
"  Cannot  the  writers  be  found  and  made  an- 
swerable for  their  audacity  ?  " 

The  lawyer's  face  paled  as  he  took  in  the 
full  purport  of  the  communication.  He  had 
heard  ugly  rumors  about  the  town.  He  knew 
that  the  affair  was  no  trifling  one. 

"  You  must  leave  Islington  at  once,"  he 
said. 

"  What !  "  exclaimed  Estelle.  "  Go  away 
without  seeing  Gilbert  again  ?  It  would  seem 
cowardly.  I  am  not  afraid." 

"  Your  staying  can  do  no  good.  Indeed, 
it  will  rather  weaken  whatever  faint  chances 
Gilbert  might  have.  Besides,  if  he  hears  of 
this,  his  anxiety  for  your  safety  will  only 


220  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

torment  him.  These  fiends  are  capable  of  any- 
thing." 

"  But  I  cannot  go  without  bidding  Gilbert 
good  by.  Surely  the  enmity  of  one  or  two 
people  in  the  town  will  not  harm  me." 

"  It  is  not  one  or  two,  Estelle." 

"  But  even  were  it  a  hundred,  I  will  not  let 
them  see  that  they  can  frighten  me.  I  came 
here  to  be  with  Gilbert.  If  the  prison  authori- 
ties allow  me  to  see  him,  I  see  no  reason  why 
I  should  stay  away." 

Wilton  protested,  and  then  said  that  he 
would  go  out  to  learn  the  temper  of  the  people. 

Estelle  had  arranged  to  visit  the  jail  again 
at  ten  o'clock  the  next  morning,  but  before  she 
had  finished  her  breakfast  Wilton  appeared. 

"  You  must  go  away  on  the  9:40,"  he  said. 
u  The  sentiment  in  the  town  is  very  pro- 
nounced, and  is  growing  more  threatening 
every  hour,  as  the  fact  of  your  being  here 
spreads.  Remember,  it  is  for  Gilbert's  sake  as 
well  as  your  own." 

"  But  I  must  see  him  again,"  Estelle 
pleaded. 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  221 

"It  would  be  suicidal,"  the  lawyer  inter- 
posed. "  Besides,  you  have  not  time." 

Much  against  her  will,  Bstelle  was  finally 
persuaded  to  act  on  this  suggestion.  Leaving 
without  seeing  Gilbert,  and  with  the  knowl- 
edge that  she  would  never  see  him  again,  was 
agonizing.  But  that  her  going  away  was  wise, 
she  was  herself  convinced  after  she  was  on 
the  train.  Dark  looks  were  cast  at  her  as  she 
went  with  Wilton  to  the  station,  and  now  and 
then  a  jeering  remark  reached  her  ears.  It 
was  all  like  some  awful  nightmare.  Had  it 
not  been  for  the  lawyer's  presence,  she  knew 
not  what  insult  might  have  been  offered  her. 
As  it  was,  after  her  departure,  Wilton  himself 
barely  escaped  rough  handling  because  of  his 
championship  of  her  cause. 

Meantime  Dean  was  removed  to  Auburn. 
He  was  perfectly  passive.  Some  of  those  with 
whom  he  came  in  contact  declared  that  he  did 
not  yet  fully  realize  the  horror  of  his  posi- 
tion; others,  among  them  Wilton,  affirmed 
that  he  exhibited  no  sign  of  dread  or  despair 
simply  because  he  had  suffered  all  that  he 


222  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

could  suffer  when  the  murder  of  his  wife  was 
first  laid  at  his  door. 

One  by  one  his  last  days  on  earth  were 
notched  off ;  but  the  chaplain  of  the  prison, 
who  had  more  frequent  intercourse  with  him 
than  any  one  else,  could  note  no  increase  of 
nervousness  as  the  fatal  date  drew  near.  Dean 
was  friendly  with  him  at  all  times,  except 
when  urged  to  free  his  soul  by  confession. 

"  Why  should  I  confess  to  a  lie?"  he  asked. 
"  Sins  I  have  committed — many  of  them. 
For  these  I  most  humbly  do  crave  pardon,  but 
of  that  great  sin  for  which  I  am  to  die,  I  am 
innocent." 

Earnestly  the  chaplain  pleaded  with  him  to 
recede  from  a  position  which  could  avail  him 
nothing  in  this  world,  and  only  jeopardized 
his  chances  of  happiness  in  the  next.  "  I  am 
innocent,"  Dean  would  repeat,  not  violently, 
but  with  a  calmness  that  almost  convinced  the 
priest  in  face  of  the  glaring  evidence  piled  up 
against  him. 

At  last  the  chaplain  ceased  to  speak  of  the 
matter,  and  then  Dean  opened  his  heart  more 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  223 

fully  to  him.  He  was  a  young  man,  and  this 
fact  gave  the  condemned  one  a  feeling  that  his 
own  weaknesses  could  find  more  ready  pallia- 
tion than  with  one  whose  own  youth,  with  its 
follies,  was  far  back  in  the  past. 

"  It  is  not  so  hard  for  me  to  die,"  Dean  said 
to  him,  shortly  before  the  end.  "  If  it  were 
not  that  my  death  would  seem  to  justify  so 
many  in  the  belief  that  I  am  what  the  court 
has  decreed  me  to  be,  I  would  go  gladly.  Life 
was  never  really  a  boon  to  me  after  I  found 
out  that  I  loved  some  one  else  better  than  my 
wife.  My  nature  is  too  finely  organized  to 
live  recklessly.  I  could  never  abandon  myself 
to  evil  courses  as  most  men  can.  It  was  im- 
possible for  me  to  forget  that  I  was  transgress- 
ing. Others  remember  only  afterwards  in  the 
form  of  remorse.  With  me  the  pain  was 
mingled  with  the  pleasure.  I  felt  myself  to 
be  a  brute  even  while  I  was  planning  to  be 
still  more  brutish.  Punishment  for  that  I  de- 
serve. If  my  condemnation  only  read,  '  You 
are  to  die,  for  deceiving  your  wife,'  I  should 
not  murmur,  because  it  would  be  just" 


224  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

The  last  day  came.  In  some  way  the  re- 
porters had  ascertained  the  date  of  the  execu- 
tion, and  an  elaborate  arrangement  of  signals 
was  in  readiness  to  convey  to  the  ends  of  the 
country  the  intelligence  that  Islington's  wife 
murderer  had  met  with  his  deserts. 

It  was  on  this  final  morning  that  the  chap- 
lain made  his  last  attempt  to  extract  a  con- 
fession from  Dean. 

"  No,"  was  the  firm  reply  ;  "  I  will  not  die 
with  a  lie  upon  my  lips.  But  I  blame  no  one  ; 
it  is  my  own  folly  that  has  brought  me  where 
I  am.  '  As  ye  sow,  so  must  ye  reap,'  and  if 
I  have  sowed  only  foolish  weakness  and  reap 
the  penalty  for  the  most  awful  of  crimes,  it  is 
a  pity,  but  I  must  submit  to  the  rulings  of  a 
higher  will  than  mine.  Men  may  never  find 
out  their  mistake ;  but  God  knows.  Aye, 
and  there  is  one  on  earth  who  believes  in  me, 
too." 

"  Not  her  name,"  implored  the  chaplain. 
"  Do  not  let  her  name  be  the  last  thing  on 
your  lips." 

"  And  why  should  it  not  be  ?     She  is  as 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  225 

pure  as  an  angel  in  heaven.  I  have  ruined 
her  life.  It  is  as  little  as  I  can  do  to  give 
her  the  poor  comfort  of  knowing  that  I  went 
to  my  death  with  the  thought  of  her  to  make 
me  brave.  Come,  are  they  not  ready  for  me 
now  ?  " 

With  steady  step  he  walked  into  the  cham- 
ber from  which  a  few  minutes  later  was  borne 
forth  the  rigid  body  of  one  who  met  nobly  an 
ignoble  death. 


XXL 

"IXTHEN  Estelle  left  Islington  under  such 
fearful  circumstances,  it  seemed  as  if 
she  must  give  way  to  utter  despair.  If  she 
had  only  been  permitted  to  see  Gilbert  once 
again,  she  felt  that  she  could  better  endure 
her  lot.  But  to  realize  that  she  had  been 
deliberately  driven  from  his  side,  was  ex- 
ecrated by  an  entire  community,  among 
whom  she  would  never  dare  venture  again — 
the  recollections  of  all  this  oppressed  her  with 
a  sense  of  horror  from  which  she  could  not 
escape. 

The  words  of  that  "  warning  "  were  burned 
indelibly  into  her  brain.  Waking,  she  thought 
of  them  always ;  sleeping,  they  took  living 
shape  and  tormented  her  in  the  form  of  demons 
who  had  vowed  never  to  let  her  rest.  The 
fictitious  strength  that  had  carried  her  through 

so  much,  gave  way  at  last.     One  morning  she 
226 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  227 

found  she  could  not  leave  her  bed.  She  had 
scarcely  power  to  speak  or  to  raise  her  hand. 
And  yet  her  mind  seemed  tirelessly  active — 
going  over  and  over  again  the  scenes  of  that 
last  day  in  Islington,  repeating  endlessly  the 
contents  of  that  letter. 

Her  tortured  fancy  pictured  her  as  being 
compelled  to  return  to  the  town,  as  walking 
through  its  streets — the  butt  of  ridicule,  the 
target  for  jeers,  the  object  at  which  the  uni- 
versal finger  of  scorn  was  pointed.  All  unbid- 
den, there  came  visions  of  little  children  being 
taught  to  shield  their  eyes  from  the  sight  of 
her ;  of  women  holding  aside  their  skirts  as 
she  passed ;  of  men  nudging  one  another  and 
saying,  "There  she  goes,"  in  the  familiar  tone 
that  embodies  the  utmost  limits  of  contempt. 

She  could  think  of  nothing  else.  Full  of 
Gilbert  as  her  heart  was,  each  thought  of  him 
only  reminded  her  afresh  of  her  humiliation. 
But  one  hope  sustained  her.  She  knew  that 
Wilton  was  still  working  faithfully  for  him  ; 
if  only  he  could  be  saved,  she  cared  not  what 
fate  overtook  herself. 


228  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

And  so  the  days  passed  by.  Each  morning 
and  evening  she  had  the  paper  brought  to  her, 
and  turned  with  feverish  eagerness  to  see 
whether  a  reprieve  had  been  granted.  But 
there  was  nothing  to  reward  her,  only  now  and 
then  an  item  stating  that  wife  murderer  Dean 
still  stoutly  maintained  his  innocence.  And 
then  one  morning  she  read  the  lines,  "  Gilbert 
Dean  Pays  the  Full  Penalty  for  His  Crime." 

He  was  dead;  murdered,  as  truly  as  was 
poor  Louise.  Nothing  that  she  might  ever  do 
could  bring  him  back  to  her.  His  inno- 
cence might  be  established  fifty  times  over, 
but  it  would  be  all  one  to  him  now.  He  had 
gone  out  from  her  life  forever,  and  she  was 
left  alone,  alone  to  fight  those  horrible  shapes, 
that  now,  waking  as  well  as  sleeping,  were 
always  pursuing  her. 

"Gilbert,"  she  cried,  "why  do  you  not  come 
to  me  ?  There  are  men  with  white  masks  over 
their  faces.  They  are  driving  me  before  them. 
I  have  no  rest.  Save  me,  save  me  !  " 

Her  voice  rose  shrill.  Some  of  the  servants 
in  the  house  where  she  was  staying  heard  her 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  229 

and  hastened  to  the  room.  She  gazed  at  them 
as  though  she  had  never  seen  them  before. 
There  was  a  wildness  in  her  eyes  that  terrified 
them.  A  doctor  was  hastily  summoned. 

"  It  is  here,"  he  said  gravely,  touching  his 
forehead. 

After  a  week  or  two,  as  there  was  no  change, 
a  commission  was  appointed.  She  was  ex- 
amined and  adjudged  insane.  But  she  was 
quite  passive,  and  allowed  them  to  do  with  her 
what  they  would. 

One  day  Wilton  read  in  the  papers  that 
Marie  Myrwin,  the  actress  so  unpleasantly 
associated  with  the  Dean  murder,  had  gone 
out  of  her  mind,  and  had  been  placed  in  con- 
finement. 

"  Poor  Estelle,"  he  murmured.  "  God  forgive 
me  for  wishing  that  it  had  been  death  instead." 

He  lost  no  time  in  going  to  see  her,  and 
arranging  that  she  should  be  made  as  com- 
fortable as  possible.  She  knew  him,  but  only 
as  she  had  known  him  when  he  and  Gilbert 
and  herself  had  been  young  people  together 
in  Lakefield. 


230  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

"  Gilbert  has  not  been  to  see  me  in  a  long 
while,  Phil,"  she  said.  "  Why  doesn't  he  come  ? 
Perhaps,  though,  he  doesn't  know  how  much 
I  love  him." 

"Is  there  no  hope?"  Wilton  asked  the 
doctor. 

"  None,"  was  the  reply. 

He  saw  her  again  before  he  went  away. 
This  time  she  seemed  to  have  more  compre- 
hension of  the  real  nature  of  the  things  that 
had  befallen. 

"  You  shall  not  kill  him,"  she  moaned. 
"  He  never  murdered  her !  But  she  was  cruel 
to  me.  He  would  not  harm  her  for  it.  Gil- 
bert, Gilbert,  why  do  you  sit  there,  helpless, 
looking  at  them  ?  They  will  kill  you.  I 
see  it  in  their  eyes." 

"God  help  her,"  Wilton  murmured,  as  he 
went  his  way ;  "  she  is  beyond  the  help  of 
man." 


XXII. 

T^OR  many  months  the  Dartmouth  property 
in  Islington,  where  the  Deans  had  lived, 
stood  idle.  It  had  fallen  to  the  heritage  of 
some  relations  of  Mrs.  Dean  who  resided  in  a 
distant  State.  They  had  no  idea  of  coming 
to  live  there  themselves,  and  while  the  awful 
associations  that  clung  about  the  house  were 
still  so  fresh  in  all  minds,  it  was  a  difficult 
matter  to  find  a  purchaser.  But  as  time 
passed  by,  and  after  some  mineral  springs 
were  discovered  in  the  neighborhood,  a  syndi- 
cate was  formed  which  bought  in  the  property, 
and  set  about  putting  up  a  big  summer  hotel 
on  the  site.  Spring  was  just  opening  again 
when  the  house  was  unlocked  to  admit  of  the 
furniture  being  removed. 

The  Islington  Journal  not  long  afterwards, 
under  startling  headlines,  contained  the  fol- 
lowing : 

231 


232  THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON. 

A  most  shocking  miscarriage  of  justice  has  been 
brought  to  light.  It  seems  that  Gibert  Dean,  who  was 
electrocuted  last  fall  for  the  murder  of  his  wife,  was  in- 
nocent of  the  crime.  Mrs.  Dean  committed  suicide  by 
taking  poison.  After  a  thorough  investigation  this  paper 
is  enabled  to  give  the  facts  in  a  case  which  only  proves 
anew  the  fatal  weakness  of  circumstantial  evidence  in 
criminal  trials. 

Among  the  articles  of  furniture  in  the  Dean  dining 
room  was  a  sideboard  of  rather  peculiar  construction. 
Built  of  oak  and  exceedingly  heavy,  it  did  not  sit  flush 
with  the  carpet,  but  rested  about  an  inch  above  it  on  four 
claw  feet.  When  this  sideboard  was  moved  out  from  its 
place  against  the  wall  during  the  recent  sale  of  effects,  a 
litter  of  rubbish  was  discovered  to  be  beneath  it,  as  its 
nearness  to  the  floor  prevented  the  introduction  of  broom 
or  brush.  There  was  a  silver  knife,  a  penholder,  a  nickel 
match  safe,  and  a  bit  of  crumpled  writing  paper. 

On  picking  up  the  latter  and  smoothing  it  out,  a  work- 
man discovered  writing  on  it,  in  pencil.  In  brief,  it 
was  a  note  in  Mrs.  Dean's  hand,  as  has  been  proven  beyond 
all  doubt.  We  give  herewith  the  contents  : 

I  can  endure  this  agony  no  longer.  In  spite  of  all  that 
I  have  seen  with  my  own  eyes,  I  love  my  husband  still. 
But  to  love  him  and  know  him  to  be  false  to  me  is 
anguish  too  keen  for  mortal  to  bear.  I  have  taken  poison. 
Soon  all  will  be  over.  I  want  Gilbert  to  know  that  I 
forgive  him  for  all  that  he  has  made  me  suffer.  If  my 
death  will  make  him  happy,  he  shall  have  the  opportu- 
nity to  taste  of  the  joy  it  seems  I  could  not  give  him. 
Perhaps  I  have  sinned  in  what  I  have  done.  If  I  have, 
there  is  no  remorse  in  my  heart.  There  is  room  there 
only  for  love — love  and  sorrow.  Dying  I  injure  no  one, 
myself  least  of  all,  for  to  live  after  what  has  happened 
would  be  daily  torture.  I  write  this  that  the  world  may 
know  I  alone 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  ISLINGTON.  233 

Here  the  note  broke  off  abruptly.  The  writing,  steady 
at  first,  shows  traces,  as  it  proceeds,  of  a  shaking  hand, 
until  at  the  last  it  is  scarcely  legible.  Undoubtedly  this 
was  caused  by  the  working  of  the  poison,  which  had 
taken  effect  sooner  than  the  writer  had  imagined  it 
would.  As  the  final  seizure  overcame  her,  it  is  probable 
that  Mrs.  Dean  crumpled  the  note  tightly  in  her  hand, 
before  clutching  at  her  throat  in  the  death  agony  ;  then, 
as  she  fell,  the  paper  dropped  from  her  nerveless  fingers 
close  to  the  sideboard,  underneath  which  it  might  have 
slid  at  once,  or  been  kicked  there  unknowingly  by  some 
of  the  servants  in  the  next  morning's  excitement. 

Could  there  be  a  more  shocking  arraignment  of  the 
injustice  of  securing  so  called  justice  by  means  of  circum- 
stantial evidence  ? 

As  soon  as  the  facts  above  set  forth  were 
established  even  to  Amos  Grymes'  grudging 
satisfaction,  Wilton  hastened  to  Estelle  in  the 
hope  that  she  might  be  made  to  comprehend 
the  happy,  if  tardy  truth.  But  he  saw  at  once 
that  hope  was  vain.  Her  mind  was  as  full  of 
shadows  as  on  his  previous  visit,  and  he  came 
away  with  her  last  words  echoing  again  haunt- 
ingly  in  his  ears  :  "  Gilbert,  Gilbert,  why  do 
you  sit  there,  helpless,  looking  at  them  ? 
They  will  kill  you.  I  see  it  in  their  eyes." 

THE   END. 


"Derrmgforth" 

By  FRANK  A.  MUNSEY. 
Price  reduced  from  75  cents  to  25   cents  a  volume. 


"  1~\ERRINGFORTH  "  is  a  story  of  today—  a  story 
-^     that  bears  on  a  problem  that  every  young 
woman  must  consider  ;  a  problem  that  every  mother 
should  consider. 

Some  Press  Comments  on  "  Derringforth." 

Sweet  and  true  in  sentiment,  and  told  in  a  natural  and  effective  manner. 
—  The  Book  Buyer. 

The  misunderstandings  of  love  have  been  a  theme  for  writers  since  the 
d:\ys  of  Eve,  but  rarely  are  they  brought  out  with  more  fidelity  to  nature  than 
in  this  book.  —  Bridgeport  Standard. 

As  a  rule,  the  novel  with  a  purpose  is  to  be  shunned,  but  to  all  rules  there 
are  exceptions,  and  "  Derringforth,r  by  Frank  A.  Munsey,  is  one  of  the  most 
notable  to  this  that  has  appeared  for  many  a  day.  "  When  shall  a  girl 
marry  ?  "  is  the  question  it  raises,  and  M  r.  Munsey  has  taken  the  unpopular  side 
in  a  story  that  is  remarkable  for  its  skill,  strength,  and  insight  into  human 
nature.  *  '  *  It  is  an  honest,  natural,  human  love  story  in  which  the  reader 
is  too  deeply  interested  to  see  any  moral  until  the  book  is  closed.  —  New  York 
World. 

The  style  of  "Derringforth"  is  limpid,  straightforward,  free  from  tricks. 
Every  word  has  a  meaning  and  there  is  not  one  line  of  that  superfluity  of  ex- 
pression which  delays  the  reader.  There  is  throughout  the  book  the  atmo- 
sphere of  plain  air,  that  cleanness  of  manly  style  which  is  the  ideal  of  the  best 
school  of  French  fiction.  But  it  is  only  the  reviewer  who  will  give  a  thought 
to  the  "style."  It  is  not  the  critic  who  makes  or  mars,  but  the  great  class  of 
people  who  read  a  book  for  the  humanity  in  it  to  which  the  human  heart  and 
intelligence  respond,  and  the  story  of  Phil  and  Marion  and  Dorothy  is  essen- 
tially a  drama  ol  the  human  heart.  —  New  Haven  Palladium. 

"Derringforth"  is  published  in  two  volumes, 
handsomely  bound  in  cloth.  Heretofore  it  has  sold  at 
$1.50,  but  in  order  to  make  all  our  books  uniform  in 
price,  it  will  from  now  on  sell  at  50  cents,  for  the  set.  It 
can  be  had  from  your  book  seller  or  the  publisher  at 
this  price. 

FRANK  A,  MUNSEY,   HI  Fifth  Ave.,  New  York. 


The  first  book  in  this  series  was 

"  A  Princess 
and  a  Woman " 

BT  ROBERT  MCDONALD. 

IT  is  a  stirring  story  of  adventure  in  the  eastern  countries 
•  of  Europe,  where  the  shifting  kaleidoscope  of  political 
intrigue  is  swayed  by  the  strong  hands  of  bold  soldiers  of 
fortune  and  the  resistless  power  of  true  love.  It  is  a 
fascinating  story  that  holds  the  attention  of  the  reader 
from  beginning  to  end.  Originally  published  as  a  serial 
in  MUNSEY'S  MAGAZINE,  much  new  matter  has  been 
added  by  the  author  previous  to  its  issue  in  book  form. 
It  is  beautifully  bound  in  cloth,  uniform  with  "  The  Affair 
at  Islington,"  and  is  for  sale  by  book  dealers  everywhere 
for  25  cents,  or  will  b£  sent  postpaid  for  that  sum  by  the 
publisher. 

*  «  « 

The  next  book  in  this  series  will  be..,. 

"The  First  Families" 

By  RICHARD  MACE. 

IT  will  be  ready  August  first  and  will  be  uniform  in  style  ; 
and  price  with  "The  Affair  at  Islington."     The  story   * 
is  of  a  domestic  nature  and  is  refreshingly  novel  in  theme 
and  treatment. 

FRANK  A.  MUNSEY,  m  Fifth  Avc.,  New 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LBRARY  FACILITY 


A     000  702  900     2 


